


Love is Trouble & Life's A Witch

by ProfessionalMess



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura and Lance are Siblings, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, First Kiss, Gay Keith (Voltron), Getting Together, I Tried, Klance Reverse Bang 2018, M/M, Minor Character Death, Orphan Keith (Voltron), Prince Lance (Voltron), Rescue Missions, So many emotions, THIS IS SO LONG, Witch Keith (Voltron), also sorry idk anything about horses, bc shiro swears they're the same thing, but hopefully you wont miss them, im sorry, lance shoots a crossbow, then shoots a rifle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-26 13:50:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 92,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14403456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessionalMess/pseuds/ProfessionalMess
Summary: “So?” Pidge asked as soon as the doors swooshed shut behind them. “What’s the emergency?” Lance sighed, dragging his feet.“Technically… there isn’t one.” Lance stretched out the beginning of his sentence only to rush the rest, quickly continuing over the sound of Hunk groaning loudly and Pidge yelling, “Lance!”. “However, it’s something that’s very important to me that I don’t want the whole damn castle overhearing, so the courtyard is still appropriate.”Pidge rolled her eyes as Hunk sighed, both of them sinking onto the bench as Lance came to a stop in front of them, already pacing back and forth.“Fine, then,” Pidge relented, crossing her arms over her chest. “Why are we out here? I was doing important work with Coran.” Lance scowled at her, curling his fingers into loose fists.“This is important too! I met a cute boy. Well, I didn’t really meet him, but I saw him, and I know his name and how old he is and everything.”--Or Lance is a prince, Keith is a witch, Keith is gonna die and Lance has to save him, all prefaced with far too much lead up





	1. I'm

**Author's Note:**

> -this was written for the 2018 Klance Reverse Bang. shout out to my wonderful, amazing team and my extra beta [Katherino](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katherino) who didn’t have to help but put in a lot of time and effort anyway. it’s been great serving with you, boys
> 
> -i took a simple prompt and turned it into a monster with far more detail, backstory, and angst than was strictly necessary. hi and welcome to chili’s
> 
> -all of the spells that follow are completely made up bullshit and i used google translate so they’re probably also inaccurate. I know for a fact that when you try to translate them back the result is wildly inaccurate, so i’ve provided the translations at the end for those of you who are curious. i apologize for being one of those people who uses google translate to cover the gap created by my incompetence 
> 
> -i have a chronic disease called Lance Appreciation and i am unable to keep it from bleeding into my work. maybe one day i’ll start a go fund me and you can donate money to help me find a cure. until then, we’ll all just have to suffer
> 
> -i know this is centered in a kind of medieval setting, but i used a lot of modern language and terminology and there are probably a lot of aspects that are not historically accurate or appropriate so i apologize. just note that: this story has a very loose setting and is also kind of fantasy so i get to do what i want. if any of the modern stuff is too distracting, let me know and i’ll try to do something about it 
> 
> -wanna learn how to write intentionally vague traumatic backstory just like me ?? check out my book I Didn’t Start Writing Early Enough To Fully Cultivate My Character Backstories, coming to stores in 20-procrastinat-18 
> 
> -there are other little scenes coming along later that i’ll probably add to this as a series, so watch out for those if you want to. i’m probably gonna write a smut scene if that seals the deal ;))

“Kolivan!” Lance whispered loudly, peeking his head around the corner into the brightly-lit medic bay. Neither of the two people in the room looked at him, and he huffed. He tried again, raising his voice just a little, leaning even farther into the room to help project his voice. The old apothecary finally turned his head to look at him after several more attempts at attention-grabbing on Lance’s part, raising an eyebrow in silent question. The other boy in the room, the one Lance had just recently seen for the first time, had followed here, and was subsequently asking Kolivan about, didn’t look up, still seemingly unaware of Lance’s presence somehow.  

 

Lance inclined his head toward the hall where he was standing and Kolivan put down the vial in his hand, moving closer to Lance with a small sigh and a barely hidden amused smile. Once he was close enough, Lance reached forward and grabbed his arm eagerly, pulling him out into the hallway.  


“What do you need, Your Highness?” Kolivan asked, his features a mix of fond and exasperated. Lance ignored them, intent on learning who the (admittedly cute) stranger walking around in his castle was. He may have only been fourteen, but palace security was _nothing_ to joke about.

 

“Who is that strange boy? How did he get in here? Why did you let him into the medic bay? Are you letting him _make something?_ _What if he tries to kill me!?_ Oh my God, he’s here to kill me,” Lance hissed, getting more and more worked up as he let his mind run wild, his eyes widening as he continued to grip Kolivan’s arm.

 

Kolivan chuckled, prying Lance’s fingers from his arm and squeezing them gently. “It’s alright, Prince Lance. Nothing to worry about; he’s my new apprentice. I’m an old man now, and someone has to take my place when I’m gone, so I’m training him to be the next palace apothecary.” Lance mulled his words over, frowning a bit.

 

“Where did he come from, though?”

 

“He was an orphan,” Kolivan shrugged. “The monastery took him in when he was young—and he’s a very smart and studious boy—so I chose him as my replacement.” Lance frowned even bigger, peeking around the door frame again to look at the boy a second time.

 

“He doesn’t have a family?” As far as Lance knew, this boy had only been in the castle for a few days, but watching him work wasn’t that different from watching Kolivan. It looked like he’d been here for years, making and mixing potions, and his hands looked skilled and steady. It made Lance a little bit jealous, because he was still just learning how to be a prince, and they looked to be the same age.

 

Kolivan nodded his head when he regained Lance’s attention, giving him the warning look that he’d come to recognize as “don’t ask him any stupid or insensitive questions about it”. Lance huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. It wasn’t _his_ fault he was curious. Maybe people should just stop being so sensitive about everything.

 

“What’s his name, then?”

 

“His name is Keith,” Kolivan answered, nodding in his direction. “He’s the same age as you, and I bet you’ll get along splendidly, just like your father and I did.”

 

“You’re the same age as my _dad_? Like, the king?” Lance asked, raising his eyebrow skeptically. Kolivan laughed again, his shoulders shaking with the action.

 

“Yes, my prince. Now, I really must get back to work. Is there anything else you’d like to ask?”

 

Lance pouted, kicking at the ground.  “No, I guess not. Have fun doing stupid boring stuff.” With that, Lance turned around and ran off, leaving Kolivan to laugh once more and shake his head before returning to work.

 

Lance raced up the stairs, upset with himself for going to visit the basement. The basement wasn’t a bad place to go, and he found himself down there quite a lot, but now he was excited and he wanted to talk to Pidge and Hunk, which meant he had to run up about a million staircases before he could reach them, which was just, _a lot._  

 

He ran into Hunk first, almost literally, partially out of breath and panting. “Hunk! Come on! We have to go to the courtyard, _right now_.”

 

“Your sister wanted tea,” Hunk protested, gesturing to the cup perched delicately in his hands. Lance groaned, rolling his head on his shoulders and slouching over.

 

“God, she is so _demanding_ ,” Lance complained, straightening up quickly and grabbing Hunk’s hand to pull him down the hallway toward Allura’s chambers.  

 

“She’s really not.” Hunk shrugged, hugging the tea to his chest.

 

“You _have_ to say that,” Lance argued, pouting. “You’re her housemaid.” Hunk just shrugged again and let Lance lead him a bit too quickly down the hall, Allura’s door growing closer with every step. When they were within thirty feet, Lance let go of Hunk and skipped the rest of the way, humming to himself as he went.

 

“Hey Plaxum, hey Rax,” he said as he passed Allura’s guards where they kept watch on either side of Allura’s chamber door.

 

“Hello, Lance,” they replied in unison, easy smiles on their faces.

 

Lance shouted as soon as he banged the door open and barged inside, marching across the room. “Allura! Here’s your stupid tea!” Lance gestured for Hunk to set the tea on her bedside table, next to a startled but ultimately unsurprised Allura sitting on her bed.

 

“Why are you always stealing Hunk, hmm?” she asked, putting down her book and giving him a little fond smile and a raised eyebrow.

 

“Because he’s more fun than you are!” Lance sang, falling onto the bed and grinning up at her. He paused long enough to crawl onto the bed properly and give Allura a quick hug before he was springing off of it again and waltzing out of the room, Hunk following behind him more slowly after a proper goodbye to Allura. Lance’s eyes scanned the halls for Pidge’s messy, messy hair as he went, his lips falling into an increasingly more intense pout every time he passed an alcove and didn’t see her. Lord, one would think Lance would be able to find his own housemaid easier than this.

 

His castle wasn’t _huge_ , especially compared to that of their sworn enemy, the neighboring kingdom of the Galra, but it was still big enough to be hard to locate the people you were looking for, so Lance raced through the halls as fast as he could, his heart beating quickly as he thought about what he wanted to share with Hunk and Pidge, his eyes peeled and jumping back and forth as they scanned every inch of castle he ran by.

 

“Lance!” Hunk called eventually, sounding far away. “Slow down and wait for me!”

 

“I’ll wait up once I’ve found Pidge!” Lance yelled back, not even pausing to look behind him as he rounded a corner and ran down the staircase that sloped down to the ground floor. After avoiding the many (many) people that were already on the stairs when he decided to fly down them, Lance paused on the shiny floor just in front of the first step and rested his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. One would think that his crossbow practice would have him more in shape than this, even if it was just a lot of standing around and aiming.

 

As he straightened, he saw a flash of copper hair in the corner of his eye and immediately bolted in its direction, knowing that catching up to Pidge was an art form he had yet to perfect. For such a small little girl, she sure could move _quickly_. Lance’s only saving grace was his long ass legs, and he used them to his advantage as he chased Pidge down.

 

As he got closer and turned a corner into a side hall, Lance saw that she was with Coran, which wasn’t much of a surprise. The two of them liked to walk around the castle and tinker with things while spouting off good advice and encouragement to anyone who walked by (Coran did more encouraging than Pidge did, but they had an equal love for useless tinkering). Lance even went with them sometimes. “Pidge!”

 

Pidge’s head whipped up as Lance continued to barrel toward her, but she merely quirked a brow at him and stopped walking, as if him running at her was an event that took place regularly. She didn’t even look worried or anything, just disgruntled at the interruption. _What a wonderful, caring friend,_ he thought sarcastically. This is what he got for being so nice to everyone.

 

Lance slowed as he got closer and eventually came to a stop in front of her, with the added bonus of having Coran’s attention as well. “Pidge,” he wheezed, holding up a hand as he sucked air into his lungs. Pidge was going to _pay_ for all this running later. For now, though, Lance had a one-track train of thought, and he just wanted to talk to Hunk and Pidge about the new boy currently making potions in his basement. “We need to go to the courtyard. Like, _now_.”

 

Pidge’s eyes widened at that, because it was rare that the courtyard was mentioned. For the three of them, mention of the courtyard was reserved for emergencies, and they’d only used it a couple times over the course of their friendship, anytime they needed to talk about something that was too dangerous to be overheard by wandering ears. They went to the courtyard a lot—it was their _spot_ —but most of the visits had been unspoken agreements between the three of them, established through subtle prolonged eye contact and the occasional use of Lance’s arm language that he had created. To mention the courtyard in conversation was to really _mean_ it.

 

Pidge handed whatever weird tool was in her hand to Coran and followed Lance as he turned and headed back down the hallway he’d just run the length of, unable to keep himself from walking quickly in his excitement. They ran into Hunk in the open foyer of the ground floor and collected him as they went past, moving with purpose until they reached the large, ornate, and weirdly hidden doors that lead to the courtyard.

 

It had taken Lance a good ten years of his life to realize they even _had_ a courtyard, because no one ever mentioned it or used it, and the doors weren’t easy to find if you weren’t looking. The discovery of the courtyard, however, had brought the three of them closer together, and had become a sanctuary of sorts for them. They’d even slept in it a couple times, to his father’s horror.

 

Today, the weather was appropriately warm and sunny, similar to how Lance was feeling in his chest right about now. There was just something about the new boy, _Keith_ , that had him feeling giddy and bubbly all over, which was why he pulled his two closest friends into the one place in the castle where no one could overhear them without them knowing about it, because Lance wanted to _obsess_ over him. In private.

 

“So?” Pidge asked as soon as the doors swooshed shut behind them. “What’s the emergency?” Lance sighed, dragging his feet.

 

“ _Technically…_ there isn’t one.” Lance stretched out the beginning of his sentence only to rush the rest, quickly continuing over the sound of Hunk groaning loudly and Pidge yelling, “Lance!”. “ _However,_ it’s something that’s very important to me that I don’t want the whole damn castle overhearing, so the courtyard is still appropriate.”

 

Pidge rolled her eyes as Hunk sighed, both of them sinking onto the bench as Lance came to a stop in front of them, already pacing back and forth. The grass and dirt in front of the bench had _long_ been worn away by Lance’s pacing. It was one of the only things he did consistently. The first couple of times it had been fixed by the royal gardener, but eventually he gave up and left the dent in the earth right where it was.

 

“Fine, then,” Pidge relented, crossing her arms over her chest. “Why are we out here? I was doing important work with Coran.” Lance scowled at her, curling his fingers into loose fists.

 

“This is important too! I met a cute boy. Well, I didn’t really _meet him_ , but I saw him, and I know his name and how old he is and _everything_.” Pidge and Hunk were interested now, because while they all three knew that Lance had the capacity to like both boys and girls, he really only tried to involve himself with members of the female population (as well as a fourteen-year-old prince who rarely left the castle could, anyway). Lance drawing attention to the fact that he was interested in another boy was a rare day indeed. In addition, it had been a while since this topic had even come up, since Lance hadn’t left the castle in almost six years.     

 

“Why’s he any different than the other cute boys you’ve seen? Why does it warrant the _courtyard?_ ” Hunk asked. Lance sighed, bringing his hands up to bury in his hair. They hadn’t seen him. They didn’t understand. How could they? They both liked _girls_.

 

“For one,” Lance said, adding a little stomp to every step, “he lives in the castle _."_ All the other boys Lance had talked to them about were ones he’d seen on the street very briefly in passing on the rare occasions that he left the palace walls. This meant that none of those boys could ever _be_ someone to Lance, because he’d most likely never see them again. But for Lance’s cute boy to live _in the castle_ , that was a whole different situation (especially since they had no idea how King Alfor felt about half gay sons).  

 

“He _what?_ ” Pidge sputtered, her eyes going wide as she sat forward. Then she frowned. “Wait, it’s not my brother, is it?”

 

Lance choked on his spit, whirling around to face her. “No it’s not your _brother_ , idiot! It’s a _new_ boy, he’s only been here a few days.” Lance resumed his pacing as Hunk hummed thoughtfully.

 

“I think I know who you’re talking about. I saw him in the kitchens a couple nights ago when I was helping Shay with that big dinner we had. He was getting supplies for Kolivan, I think. I didn’t get a good look at him, though.” Lance groaned pitifully, the mere mention of his looks enough to put jelly in his knees.

 

“He’s _so cute_ , Hunk,” Lance whined, letting his upper body hang as he continued to pace. “He’s got this shoulder length, fluffy black hair that looks _so soft_ and these really pretty eyes, and his arms and shoulders look great in that robe thing he has to wear _and_ he has a great ass when he bends over, because _yes_ I was looking.”

 

“What a gentleman,” Pidge grumbled, an amused smirk on her face. Lance stuck his tongue out at her.

 

“What else do you know about him?” Hunk asked.

 

“I know that his name is Keith and he’s fourteen just like we are, and that he’s an orphan and is training to someday replace Kolivan as the palace apothecary.” Lance listed, ticking the nuggets of information off on his fingers. “I also know that he’s super cute and it’s nice to watch him work because he’s really talented.”

 

“He’s gone, Hunk,” Pidge said, shaking her head. “We’ve lost him.” Hunk laughed, shoving her shoulder.

 

“Have a little _faith_ , Pidge,” Hunk retorted. “We can coax him back from this ledge. All we need to do is remind him that Allura has paintings of him as a baby, and there’s no one Allura likes more than me, and there’s no one more willing to show any potential love interests said baby paintings than me and Allura.”

 

Lance groaned again, collapsing onto his knees and then into the dirt below, barely managing to catch himself before he completely face planted. Once he was laying down and his face was secured in the crook of his elbow he groaned yet again, putting more effort into it this time. “He might be worth the humiliation, Hunk.”

 

Pidge and Hunk gasped in unison, reaching out to poke him with their feet. “You’ve never even _talked_ to him, how do you know?” Pidge asked.

 

“Call it a hunch,” Lance answered, rolling over to squint up at them.

 

“What if he turns out to be a total ass or something?” Hunk questioned, squinting right back.

 

“What if he’s straight?” Pidge asked immediately after, which inspired a cooperative questioning session where Hunk and Pidge took turns throwing different scenarios at him.

 

“What if your dad ruins your little gay dreams and says you have to marry a girl?”

 

“What if he is gay but he just doesn’t like you?”

 

“What if he doesn’t want to date a royal?”

 

“What if he just uses you to take over the throne?” Pidge said, sounding more distressed over this possibility than she had any of the others (which was ridiculous, because Lance had about a five percent chance of ever having claim to the throne).

 

“What if you date and break up and then it’s awkward because he still has to work for you?” Hunk looked just as put-out by this suggestion as Lance felt thinking about it. That would be pret-ty awk-ward.

 

“What if he’s a bisexual like you but he wants to date Allura instead?” Pidge continued with a scandalous gasp, cocking her head to the side.

 

“What if he’s not looking for a relationship?”

 

“What if-”

 

Lance cut Pidge off with what was probably his tenth groan in ten minutes, sitting up quickly and waving his hands so they’d _shut up_ . Then he rolled his eyes into the back of his head and tried to remember all the things they’d asked him so he could _answer_ them.

 

“If he’s an ass to me I’ll either sweeten him up or dump him, if he’s straight I’ll go through the five stages of grief, if my dad forces me to be straight then I’ll marry a gay girl and we can both have gay love affairs on the side, if he’s gay and he doesn't like me then we’re back to the five stages of grief, if he doesn’t want to date a royal then I’ll change his mind, if he uses me to get the throne then good luck to him because Allura is in line before me and she’s a _total_ badass, plus the entire kingdom would be on my side so he wouldn’t get very far, and if we date and break up and it’s weird after I’ll just never go to the basement or get sick ever again. Simple solutions.”

 

“You forgot one,” Hunk commented.

 

“Two, actually,” Pidge added helpfully.

 

“Which ones?” Lance sighed, falling back to lay on the ground again.

 

“The one about him liking Allura instead of you and the one about him not wanting a relationship.”

 

“If he likes Allura instead of me then I’ll cut ties with Allura and, once again, go through the five stages of grief, and if he doesn’t want a relationship then I’ll check out his ass and live in a fantasy world until he does.”

 

“Yup,” Pidge affirmed, sighing. “We’ve lost him for good.”

 

“I can’t believe you’re this gone for someone you’ve never even talked to. Why are you like this?” Hunk sighed, shaking his head. Lance flipped them off.

 

“You guys are just jealous because you don’t have anyone and you’re lonely.”

 

“Woah there, Mr. High-And-Mighty,” Pidge tsked, holding out her hands. “Hunk here has a girlfriend, remember?”  


Hunk yelled, “Shay is not my girlfriend!” at the same time Lance groaned (it was all he seemed capable of doing at the moment) and said “Shay is _not_ his girlfriend,” while Pidge just sat on the bench and grinned at them with a gleam in her eye.

 

Lance sighed and pulled himself up off the ground, brushing the dirt off of his clothes. “You guys are the worst. You’re supposed to support my little gay heart and help me win him over, not immediately point out all the ways it could go wrong and _laugh_ at me.”

 

“Oh, we’re not done yet,” Pidge said as she stood up as well.

 

“Yup, we still have to go get Allura.” Hunk told him. Lance paused, looking at them suspiciously.

 

“Why do we need Allura?” Lance asked slowly. “You’re not pulling out the baby paintings _already,_ are you?” Hunk laughed, shaking his head and clapping Lance on the shoulder.

 

“Nope. We’re gonna go follow him around the castle and spy on him.”  

 

“Oh,” Lance said dumbly. “Okay then, let’s go!”

 

* * *

 

  


Keith didn’t consider himself to be a particularly observant person. He was often so lost inside his head that the only thing he could focus on was the one thing he was busy doing, like making a potion or successfully walking up the stairs. Despite this, the prince was kind of… hard to miss.

 

Keith had only been in the castle for a few days, but one of the main things he’d learned was that Prince Lance was the resident ray of sunshine. His sister, Princess Allura, was beautiful and elegant and a true delight, sure, but no one could completely brighten a room like the prince could. Keith quickly came to realize that many inhabitants of the castle—staff and fellow royal alike—relied on the prince to make them laugh, relied on him to improve their day and entertain them when the tasks of day-to-day life became a bore.

 

As a result of Prince Lance’s role in everyone’s lives, people tended to more or less follow him around. It was a bit more subtle than that, and seemed pretty much subconscious on their part, but Keith couldn’t help but be in awe of it, just a little. He’d never had much interaction with the prince, but from the way everyone else treated him, he _wanted_ to. He’d never met—never even _heard_ of—a royal family that was so _kind_ to everyone, especially to those that served them. Hell, the prince’s two closest friends were his and his sister’s servants, which was so outside of what Keith was expecting.

 

The family’s only flaw in Keith’s eyes was their zero-tolerance policy regarding wizardry and witchcraft, set in place by a king who had lived many generations ago but adhered to more harshly by none other than King Alfor, the prince’s father. Keith had only seen the king a few times, mostly in passing. He seemed nice, but there were a few virtues of his that he clung to very tightly, and public executions for every witch or wizard found in his kingdom was one of them.

 

He understood the law, understood the _fear,_ but it was still a little too personal for him. He knew of a lot of witches who were just plain evil and wanted nothing more than for people to suffer, but he’d heard stories about plenty of others who’d had their power thrust upon them—much like he had—and were just trying to survive, or who had chosen to practice witchcraft but only wanted to do good with it. The fact that every witch was regarded the same way bothered Keith to no end.

When Kolivan had first asked Keith to study under him and one day replace him, Keith almost said no. Kolivan didn’t know he was a witch, but it felt a bit like betrayal to his kingdom, accepting a job for a royal family that harbored great distaste for who he was. Keith only accepted his offer because he figured he could hide his magic and put it to good use as an apothecary, use it to protect the royal family in ways he might not have been able to otherwise.

 

It was still his biggest fear, though, that someone would find him out, turn him in—end his life. It didn’t keep him awake anymore like it used to when he was young, but it was the most common theme of his nightmares. Watching and observing the prince helped him forget about the secret he was keeping, helped him focus on learning how to keep that bright bundle of joy _alive_ if it ever came to it one day.

 

From his observations, Keith had learned that Prince Lance was hardly in the same place for more than an hour. He bounced all over the castle like it pained him to be confined within its walls, like he’d explode if he stopped moving for too long. He liked to run around and visit people, keep them company while they worked, liked to make sure everyone was having as good a day as he was (most of his knowledge about the prince’s habits came from questions he’d asked Kolivan, since he’d only been there for a few days and had stayed in the basement for most of that time). The castle staff flocked to the prince, welcomed him with open arms, couldn’t refuse the fond smile that spread across their lips every time he entered a room. He truly fascinated Keith.

 

Keith had also noticed that, aside from Prince Lance’s magnetic personality, living in a castle was just kind of boring. When you had someone like him around, it was easy to let him make it fun for you. So sometimes, wherever the prince went, his servant and his guards went. And more often than not, wherever the prince and his entourage went, his sister, her servant, and her guards went, too.

Unobservant or not, it was hard to miss a group of eight people poking their heads around the corner and staring at you like you had no idea they were there.

 

Keith glanced up out of the corner of his eye as Kolivan shuffled subtly over to his side, doing a much better job of it than their guests. He didn’t stop what he was doing, nor did Kolivan as he mumbled under his breath. “Prince Lance is well known for being… curious. Try not to let anything he says offend you.” Keith furrowed his brow, tapping the glass in between his palms with his fingertips.

 

“What exactly is he curious about?”

 

Kolivan sighed and chuckled a little under his breath, his eyes lighting up in the way Keith had seen so many times already at the mention of the prince. “With that boy, it could be anything. Although, I’ll wager a guess that it has something to do with the fact that you’re new around here, and our dear prince is not quite as straight as he’d have us believe.”

 

Keith’s cheeks flushed as he looked up at Kolivan in alarm, his eyes wide. Kolivan chuckled again, shaking his head a little. Keith heard a tiny squeak from the hallway but elected to ignore it.

 

“Did he have to bring seven other people?” Keith asked, looking back to the table in front of him. He felt Kolivan shrug next to him.

 

“The prince doesn’t really go anywhere alone. Him, his maid Pidge, and Princess Allura’s maid Hunk are kind of a package deal. Besides, this whole thing probably wasn’t even Prince Lance’s idea. He’s actually quite shy, but Pidge and Hunk are known for being quite... devious.”

 

Keith snorted softly, swirling the liquid around the glass still gripped in his hand. He could feel the weight of eight pairs of eyes on him from the doorway, but it didn’t unnerve him as much as he expected, and especially not now that he figured he knew the cause. It was actually a little flattering, the fact that seven other people had taken the time to stare at him just because the prince thought he was cute.

 

Keith set his glass down on the worktable and cleared his throat, turning to face Kolivan as he spoke. “Okay, well, I’ll go get those herbs you wanted from the kitchen.” Ignoring the knowing look Kolivan was giving him, he walked past him and out of the room, biting his lip to keep from smiling at the shuffling and sounds of alarm coming from the hall. As Keith left the room and turned to walk down the hall, he pretended not to notice the eight bodies pressed as flat as they could be up against the wall, staring at the side of his head in wide-eyed panic. It was a miracle that he didn’t burst out laughing.

 

Keith heard whispering from behind him as he reached the staircase but didn’t turn to look, continuing on as if he was completely unaware. It wasn’t until he was almost to the royal kitchens that he was positive they were following him, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it. Didn’t the prince and princess know it was rude to follow people around?

 

Obviously, the goal was to get them to stop following him. But what was the best way to go about it? What did Keith know about the prince that was something he could use as a distraction? Keith knew he liked other people, and Kolivan had told him that he liked to be outside, so… plants? The royal gardener? Keith was pretty sure the gardener’s name was Steve, and it seemed as good a distraction as any.

 

Letting his feet carry him toward the kitchens, Keith closed his eyes and clenched his fists, imagining the words and picturing them inside his head.

 

_Habeat tempus bonum, et plantae._

 

Then, as suddenly as the words had ended and the rush of magic had left his skin, one set of footsteps came to a stop behind him and Keith jumped as the prince yelled, “The plants!” as loud as he could, highly unnecessarily, might he add. Nothing about his spell had made him start _yelling_ about the plants.

 

Keith could feel the others panicking, shushing him and hissing his name between their teeth. He was only a little jealous that they got to call him “Lance” instead of “Prince Lance” or “Your Highness”. Keith didn’t mind the labels from a respect viewpoint, but adding the extra word onto his name all the time, even just in his thoughts, was a lot of extra work.  

 

“What are you talking about?” Pidge hissed from behind him, her voice barely audible. Prince Lance was not on the same page.

 

“I told Steve I’d help him with the plants today!” he yelled. When Keith looked over his shoulder, the prince had turned around and was booking it to the nearest staircase that lead to the ground floor, the others hovering around the spot where he had originally stopped, growing farther away as Keith continued to move. Eventually Hunk spoke, cupping his hands to yell at the prince who was decently far away now, since no one had tried to stop him or slow him down.

 

“What plants!?”

 

 _“And who’s Steve?”_ Allura yelled right after, standing on her tiptoes as if it’d make her louder. Okay, so may Keith had been wrong about the gardener’s name being Steve. It didn’t matter now, anyway. The prince was long gone.

 

* * *

 

 

Now that Lance had seen Keith’s face sporting a blush, the look on his face when he concentrated on his work, and the way he walked across the floor as if it was made for him, he was pining bad.

After coming in from helping the royal gardener plant flowers for a couple hours (apparently his name was Steven, and he was delighted to have Lance’s help), everyone met in Lance’s chambers and discussed what they observed about Keith.

 

“Personally, I think his hair is the best thing about him,” Allura said, grinning at Lance.

 

“What about his face? Did you see his face? Did you see his _blush?_ ” Lance asked, almost whining. Allura laughed.

 

“Yes, I saw everything that you did. He’s very cute.”

 

“Well back off, he’s mine.”

 

“I can see why you like him,” Pidge commented, absently picking at her nails. “He’s very, I don’t know, docile? He wouldn’t compete with your energy.” Lance frowned, not liking the way that could be taken as an insult.

 

“He just has his own type of energy,” Lance said, crossing his arms over his chest. Pidge looked up from her fingers and immediately rolled her eyes.

 

“Relax, Lance,” she said. “I’m just saying that you’d never be able to date someone who likes to talk just as much as you do, because people that are too similar always clash in unexpected ways and it’d just end up making one or both of you feel bad. Keith isn’t like you, not in a lot of ways, so there’d be no problem in that aspect.”

 

“We observed him for, like, five minutes. How do you know all that?” Hunk asked.

 

“Pidge is very perceptive,” Allura said. “She’s the one who figured out that Coran won’t leave the castle boundaries because he’s afraid of the street pigs.”

 

“Which, if you’ll remember, lead to Lance thinking it was a good idea to bring the street pigs off the street and into the castle,” Nyma added, sounding just as unimpressed now as she had the day it happened. As Lance’s guards, Nyma and Rolo had seen a lot of Lance’s lowest moments, such as the street pig incident and many, many others. Lance’s fourteen years of life had been _action-packed_.  

 

“That doesn’t mean she knows what Keith is like when he’s not being stared at by eight people from a doorway across the room,” Hunk protested, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “What about when he’s, I don’t know, actually comfortable around someone? He’s probably a lot different.”

 

“I guess I’ll just have to find out,” Lance sighed, trying and failing to sound like the idea of it was an inconvenience to him. Nothing excited him more than the thought of getting to know Keith better.

 

“Are we going to address the possibility that Keith won’t share a romantic attraction to you?” Plaxum asked from her typical guard stance next to Allura.

 

She and Rax were known for being much more rigid than Nyma and Rolo when it came to their guard duties. Lance was pretty sure they didn’t even know how to relax, since Allura had never given them any indication that they could. Lance, however, had once locked himself in his room and refused to come out until Nyma and Rolo stopped treating him like a prince and just started treating him like a person their age—as a peer, a friend, even if they were quite a few years older. He didn’t want the stiff formality.

 

Lance sighed again, rolling his head across the floor where he was laying to look at her. “It doesn’t matter if he shares a romantic attraction or not. I want to get to know him no matter what. He’s gonna be living in my castle, and knowing me he’s probably gonna end up saving my life someday, so I should befriend him no matter what, right? Dating him would just be… an added bonus.”

 

Everyone in the room looked down at him and stared until he grew indignant and uncomfortable. “What? I know how to be mature! I know how to handle unrequited feelings! Stop looking at me like this is going to go horribly wrong.” No one stopped looking at him, making him pout.

 

“Lance,” Hunk said evenly, his brow arched and his arms still folded menacingly over his chest. “You are a fourteen-year-old prince who has only left the castle walls a grand total of four times and has had a crush—from afar, might I add—on a grand total of four people, one for each time you’ve left the castle. And you haven’t left the castle in probably six years. So I’m sorry, but you don’t know anything about love or feelings or how to handle it if someone doesn’t want you the way you want them. I’m not saying you _can’t_ handle it, but… you shouldn’t act like you’re an expert.”

 

Lance huffed, reaching out a foot to kick Hunk. “Alright, Mr. I’m-Also-Fourteen-And-I’ve- _Never_ -Left-The-Castle,” Lance mocked.  

 

Pidge snorted. “He’s still got you beat in the love department, what with him having a girlfriend and you having dick-diddly.”

 

“Pidge!” Lance and Hunk yelled at the same time. Allura laughed and shook her head, grinning fondly at them.

 

“Just get to know him and see where it goes from there,” Allura advised, standing up and stretching. Lance hummed and picked up his feet so she and her guards could walk past, leaving the remaining five of them behind.

 

“What do you think, Nyma and Rolo?” Lance asked around a yawn.

 

“He seems sweet,” Nyma said with a little smile on her face as she looked down at him. Rolo nodded, bumping shoulders with her.

 

“If I had to choose someone in this castle for you to date, it’d definitely be him,” Rolo added with an audible shrug. His armor kept ringing even after he stopped moving, and Lance glared at it.

 

Eventually, Lance rolled over and pressed his face into the floor, letting out a bodily sigh.

“I can’t wait to be his friend,” he mumbled into the soft carpet. The others stared at him in amusement until he realized they were still there and shooed them out so he could go to sleep.


	2. beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Keith,” Pidge said, squinting at him when he glanced up at her. “You’re almost out of time. You should probably start guessing.” Keith huffed, drawing his eyes back to the paper the prince was hunched over.
> 
>  
> 
> “Um, is it a… wagon?” Keith mumbled half-heartedly. The prince looked up at him immediately, obviously offended.
> 
>  
> 
> “No! It is not a wagon! How the hell did you even get a wagon from this?”
> 
>  
> 
> Keith shrugged. “Uh, what about a table?”
> 
>  
> 
> “Okay, Keith, what the actual hell. I know you said you weren’t good at drawing, but you didn’t say you were blind, too.” Prince Lance threw his hands up in the air, effectively wasting the last few seconds left on the timer.
> 
>  
> 
> “Time’s up!” Pidge cheered, grinning at them. “Wow, Keith. You suck.”

The last thing Keith expected when he walked through the foyer was to see Prince Lance, Pidge, and Hunk spread out across the floor in the middle of it, playing some sort of game. It was  _ exactly  _ what he saw, however, and Kolivan reached the other side of the foyer much quicker than Keith because apparently seeing the three of them in some weird place like this was common, and he wasn’t distracted and staring like Keith was.

 

Keith was even more surprised, although perhaps unfairly, at the fact that when the prince looked up and made eye contact with Keith, he immediately waved him over. Keith stopped and looked to the far side of the room where Kolivan had also stopped and was waiting. When he looked back at the group laying on the floor, who were all looking at him now, he raised his eyebrows and pointed at Kolivan.

 

It would be nice if they were close enough to comfortably speak (because Kolivan didn’t like to walk through the middle of rooms so Keith followed him around the edges, and the prince and his friends were in the dead center of the space, and technically they could yell and hear each other but that was awkward and weird), but he figured he had gotten his point across well enough.

 

The prince nodded his head in understanding and looked to where Kolivan was loitering. He pushed himself up off the ground from where he was laying on his stomach and performed a series of complicated hand gestures in Kolivan’s direction, who—when Keith moved his head to look—was doing them right back. After a few moments of hand communication, Lance turned back to Keith and waved him over again. After an affirmative nod from Kolivan and watching him retreat back to the basement, Keith removed himself from the shadows and moved into the middle of the room, where the prince and his friends were waiting for him.

 

“Since I know you’re going to ask about the hand thing,” Pidge said as soon as Keith was close enough to hear her. “I’ll go ahead and explain. When Lance was like, eight, maybe, he got in a fight with Allura and she said that his high-pitched voice made her ears bleed, so Lance got super offended and locked himself in his room for weeks and refused to speak, and used all his free time to create a really complicated hand language that he then forced everyone in the castle to learn and still quizzes them on occasionally, to this day. He has it all written down somewhere if you want to learn.”

 

“Why didn’t he just use paper?” Keith asked as he came to a stop and stood awkwardly between where Pidge and the prince were laying.

 

“Lance is what we like to call  _ dramatic _ .” Hunk offered, smiling up at him. Prince Lance rolled onto his back and crossed his arms over his chest, pouting.

 

“Everyone in this god-forsaken castle hates me,” Lance said, sticking out his bottom lip as far as he could. Hunk gestured at him in a sort of “see what I mean” gesture as Pidge rolled her eyes, smacking him across the chest.

 

“Are you going to invite this poor boy to play our game with us, or are you gonna make him stand there and stare at you being a little bitch on the floor?” Lance huffed and sat himself up, lifting his legs and spinning on the tile until he was facing Keith and craning his neck to look up at him with a happy little smile. Keith’s heart jumped the tiniest bit in his chest at the sight of it.

 

“Oh yeah! Do you wanna play a game with us? We’re basically just drawing shitty pictures on pieces of paper we found under my bed and trying to guess what they are. We were trying to play with three people, which is kind of weird, but now that you’re here, we can play with teams!”      

 

“Sounds exciting,” Keith mumbled as he finally sat down, crossing his legs underneath him.

 

“Are you any good at drawing?” Pidge asked, handing him a pencil.

 

“Nope,” Keith replied, popping the “p”.

 

“Great, then you’re on Lance’s team.”

 

“Don’t worry, Keith,” Lance said, beaming a smile at him while he patted Keith’s knee as if he was truly worried about it. “My drawing skills will make up for whatever you lack.”

 

“I’m sure,” Keith said, rolling his eyes and smiling a little at the same time.

 

Pidge made eye contact with Lance and smirked at him, having a silent conversation with her eyes as she flicked them between him and Keith. The prince narrowed his own eyes and drew his thumb across his neck menacingly. Pidge only laughed and went back to the game, flipping over a piece of paper and picking up the sand timer to flip around in her hands while she waited.

 

“Okay, so the rules of the game are this,” Prince Lance began, adopting a fake-serious voice and cracking his knuckles. “Each team will take turns drawing, and each member of the team will switch between guessing and drawing when it’s their team’s turn to draw. You have until the timer runs out to draw and guess, and you get a point for each correct guess. There’ll be one topic per timer, and the topic will be provided to the drawer by the opposite team. Any questions?” The rest of them shook their heads and the prince grinned. “Perfect. Pidge, duel me for first draw.”

 

Keith watched in mild confusion as Pidge and Prince Lance shuffled closer to one another and grabbed the other’s right hand where it hovered in the space between them, staring intensely into each other’s eyes. Hunk settled beside them and stared just as intensely at their cheeks, waiting a few seconds before he started counting down.

 

“Three… two… one… go!” As soon as Hunk said go, their hands came up and smacked each other on the cheek, only somehow the prince was victorious and Pidge was not.

 

“Ha! I win again!” he cheered, doing a little dance with his arms. Pidge groaned and flopped backward, rubbing at her cheek.

 

“It’s not fair! You have the reflexes of a goddamned  _ cat. _ ” Pidge complained grumpily.

 

“And yet you agree to duel me anyway,” the prince smirked.

 

“You look confused,” Hunk commented, looking in Keith’s direction.

 

“I am confused,” Keith said.

 

“It’s cheek-dueling,” Hunk explained, motioning toward their cheeks. “You hold each others’ hands to ensure there’s no cheating, and whoever hits the other person's cheek first after I say ‘go’ wins the duel. It’s pretty much just reflexes.”

 

“Seems unnecessarily painful,” Keith frowned.

 

“Maybe,” Prince Lance shrugged, smiling. “But I still win every time.”

 

“Can we just start already?” Pidge sighed, sitting back up and scooting back to her place on the other side of the paper.

 

“Yup,” the prince said, popping the ‘p’. “Keith, do you want to draw first or guess first?”

 

“I don’t have a preference.”

 

“Okay, I’ll draw first. Hunk, hit me with a whisper.” Hunk leaned over and whispered something in his ear, earning a dismayed noise from the prince and snicker from Pidge. Prince Lance let out a sigh and settled over the paper, watching Pidge’s hand as it held the timer.

 

“Reeaady… seeet… go!” Pidge yelled, flipping the timer. Prince Lance set to work immediately, the tip of the pencil flying across the paper. As Keith watched him go, he became increasingly more… conflicted. Lance was good at drawing, he was, but that didn’t mean Keith had any idea what it was. Whether that was a prince problem or a him problem was unclear.

 

“Keith,” Pidge said, squinting at him when he glanced up at her. “You’re almost out of time. You should probably start guessing.” Keith huffed, drawing his eyes back to the paper the prince was hunched over.

 

“Um, is it a… wagon?” Keith mumbled half-heartedly. The prince looked up at him immediately, obviously offended.

 

“No! It is not a wagon! How the hell did you even get a wagon from this?”

 

Keith shrugged. “Uh, what about a table?”

 

“Okay, Keith, what the actual hell. I know you said you weren’t good at drawing, but you didn’t say you were  _ blind,  _ too.” Prince Lance threw his hands up in the air, effectively wasting the last few seconds left on the timer.

 

“Time’s up!” Pidge cheered, grinning at them. “Wow, Keith. You suck.”

 

“Well, what was it supposed to be?” he asked defensively, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“It’s  _ obviously  _ a pig!” the prince shouted, pointing to the picture repeatedly. Keith pulled it over closer to him and looked again. Yup, that was very plainly a pig. What the hell was he looking at before? There was no way this was the same thing. Maybe it was just the angle?

 

“Huh,” Keith said. Prince Lance groaned loudly and pulled his hands down his face, tugging at his beautiful skin. Pidge and Hunk burst into laughter that was wholly unappreciated.

 

“Our turn!” Hunk sang, wiggling his eyebrows at the prince, who looked murderous. Whoops. “Give us a topic.”

 

Prince Lance leaned over and whispered in Pidge’s ear, whatever he said causing her to giggle. “How am I gonna do that without using words?” she asked, quirking an amused brow.

 

“I think there’s one  _ really obvious way  _ that you should take  _ full advantage of _ ,” the prince responded, giving her a pointed look in return. Pidge grinned and shook her head as Keith grabbed the timer in his fist.

 

“Three… two… one… start!”

 

Pidge started to draw almost as quickly as the prince had, only Hunk was actively guessing with every new mark instead of staring at it in confusion like Keith had. You live and you learn, right?

Keith spaced out a little while the round progressed, his eyes following the end of Pidge’s pencil instead of watching the lines the other end of was drawing, Hunk’s guesses serving as fairly consistent background noise. Eventually, though, Hunk paused for longer than he had been previously and Keith refocused his attention, noticing the frown on Hunk’s face.

 

“Pidge,” Hunk said slowly. Pidge gave him a little smile. “That is a head on a stake.”

 

“Yes, but  _ whose  _ head?” Pidge asked, windmilling one hand as she drew exaggerated lines around the hair area of the supposed head. Keith couldn’t really see it being a head, but he had pretty much proven that his opinion meant nothing. Besides, Prince Lance was grinning like a maniac, so he figured they had it right. “Come on, we only have a few more seconds. Think, Hunk, think!”

 

Inexplicably, Hunk started laughing. “Keith’s? Keith’s head on a stake?” Pidge let out laughter of her own and nodded, setting down the pencil right as the timer ran out. When Keith looked, the prince was laughing too, staring at him with this… look in his eyes that Keith couldn’t identify. He frowned.

 

“This is because I couldn’t tell it was a pig, isn’t it?” That just made them laugh harder. Keith blew out a breath that ruffled the hair around his face and crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine, whatever, you guys get a point. It’s our turn now.”

 

“Let’s hope you can draw better than you can see,” Prince Lance mumbled, giving him a side eye. Keith stuck his tongue out at him before belatedly remembering that he was a prince and that maybe he shouldn’t be sticking his tongue out at a  _ prince _ , but then deciding that since he’d seen Pidge do it, he could do it, too. Fool-proof logic. 

 

Pidge leaned over to whisper Keith’s topic in his ear. “Draw a complete map of the empire, with at least three bodies of water, three cities, three landmarks, and of course, the castle district. No words, though. Good luck.”

 

Pidge leaned back and Keith gaped at her. “No  _ fucking  _ way,” he said, his eyes wide. Pidge cackled, clutching at her stomach.

 

“ _ Yes  _ way, Keith. No backsies. My word is law. Get to it.” Keith almost didn’t see Hunk flip the timer, but he caught it at the last second and began to draw, silently cursing Pidge in his head the whole time. Keith was an  _ orphan _ . He had spent most of his life on the streets, in  _ one town _ , until he was taken in by the monastery and mostly helped with keeping it running. He’d seen a map of the empire maybe once or twice at the most, which was certainly not enough to recreate it in a manner that made it  _ recognizable _ , even if he  _ was  _ showing it to the prince of the aforementioned empire.

 

Still, Keith was boned.     

 

Keith worked as fast as he could, scratching vague outlines of the landmasses on the paper before huffing in frustration and closing his eyes.

 

_ Ostende mihi faciem tabula inferno evadere. _

 

There. Now, with an imprint of the map lodged somewhere behind his eyelids, all Keith had to do was close his eyes every once in a while and trace the lines he saw in his mind. Still, it looked like actual horseshit.

 

“Keith, I have no idea what the hell that’s supposed to be,” the prince drawled. Pidge giggled but Keith didn’t have time to glare at her. He groaned in frustration, going back over his existing lines as if making them darker would also make them look more like what they were supposed to be. Keith very quickly gave up on the overall outline and moved on to bodies of water and cities, smacking them on the sheet of paper where he figured was about the right spot. But, as the prince pointed out, they were just squiggly shapes when Keith couldn’t use any words to help.

 

“Are you having a stroke? Are you cold or something? Is this just your hand, like, having a seizure? Because there’s no fucking way that that’s  _ anything _ . That’s just shakily drawn shapes.” Prince Lance said, gaping. Keith groaned again and sat up from where he was leaning over the paper.

 

“You live here, idiot!” Keith yelled, pointing at the sheet with both hands.

 

“Wait, that’s supposed to be the  _ empire?  _ Like,  _ our  _ empire? What the  _ heck _ , Keith,” the prince said at the same time Pidge joyously shouted “Time’s up!” and snatched up the timer from where it sat on the tile between them.

 

“That counts! That totally counts!” Keith insisted as Hunk and Pidge laughed their asses off.

 

“He totally said it after the timer ran out,” Pidge countered, holding her stomach as she wheezed. “Plus, he only got it because you helped him. Doesn’t count.” Keith groaned and threw his pencil at Pidge. He then watched, only mildly unimpressed, as Lance started waving his arms around in a similar fashion to earlier when he was talking to Kolivan. Nothing was more reassuring than three people talking in a secret language around you.

 

Pidge’s face lit up and Hunk laughed, nodding his head enthusiastically as Prince Lance finished whatever he was saying and grinned at them. Then, the three of them were getting to their feet and  _ picking Keith up,  _ lifting him from the ground as if he weighed nothing at all. He did, in fact, weigh something, even if it wasn't much. It unnerved him that they could just  _ heft him  _ like this.

 

“I thought he’d struggle more,” Hunk commented as they began to carry him through the room and down a hallway. Keith shrugged, trying not to panic when the movement slightly adjusted their hold on him and made their grip waver. Pidge had a hold of his feet and the prince was holding him under his shoulders, and Hunk, the one Keith felt most comfortable with holding him, was holding him somewhere around the ass—aka the one place that didn’t really need to be supported.

 

“I’m a go-with-the-flow kind of guy,” Keith mumbled casually. Pidge hummed in response. “That’ll come in handy, being friends with the prince.” Keith blushed a little at the insinuation that they’d one day be friends, or the thought that they already were. He hoped no one was looking.

 

They continued down the hall in relative silence, getting the occasional strange look from passersby. Keith eventually relaxed his muscles and took advantage of the fact that he didn’t have to be working right now, he didn’t have to exert any of his own energy, and the prince smelled really,  _ really  _ good. He could hardly focus with his head this close to the prince’s dick, and since they’d never really been this close before, his smell was almost overpowering.

 

The number of people they were passing was becoming more and more the deeper they got into the castle. Keith even went so far as to wave to a few of them, earning a strangely endearing snort from behind him. Most of the people they had passed had given them a look, but ultimately let them pass and said nothing about their spectacle. Now, Keith could see a well-built man up ahead who was seemingly waiting for them, his arms crossed over his chest and his brow quirked in amusement.  

 

“Hey, Shiro,” Prince Lance called when they got close enough, the grin evident in his voice (Keith craned his head back to sneak a peek anyway. It was nice to look at). Shiro stepped out of the doorway he was leaning against as they came to a stop in front of him, Keith still held at waist level, several feet above the ground.

 

“Hello, Lance,” Shiro mused, looking the four of them up and down. “May I ask what you’re doing?”

 

“Carrying this heathenish criminal to the place that he belongs,” Lance answered vaguely. Keith was almost positive that the memory of the prince referring to him as a “heathenish criminal” would haunt every single one of his forthcoming nightmares. It hit a little bit too close to home. Shiro looked down at Keith and shrugged, indicating that he knew about as much regarding where he was going as Keith.

 

“And where is it that?”

 

“Show ‘em, Hunk,” Prince Lance instructed. Keith’s midsection dipped a bit as Hunk let go and stepped back, waving his arms in the manner that Keith was beginning to associate with the prince’s secret language. That serious, huh?

 

“Ahh, I remember now. I actually remember Lance’s first visit quite clearly. I can still picture the way he-”

 

“Okay!” the prince yelped, his nervous laughter jostling Keith’s head a little. “That’s enough. It’s a secret, where we’re going. Telling that story will—you know—totally give it away and stuff.”

 

“Oh, I didn’t know it was supposed to be secret,” Shiro said, barely hiding a smile.

 

“Really? Why else do you think I had Hunk sign it out to you?”

 

“Because you’re a prince, and you do whatever you want?” Keith could practically hear the prince’s scowl, but Shiro just shook his head and turned his attention to Keith where he was suspended between two bodies. “I don’t think we’ve met,” Shiro pointed out, holding out his hand for Keith to shake, the one that was visibly made of metal. “I’m Shiro, commander-in-chief of the king’s army and resident amputee.”

 

“I designed and created his arm for him, with the help of Hunk,” Pidge stage-whispered, winking at Keith.

 

“I’m Keith,” he answered, grabbing Shiro’s hand and shaking it, albeit awkwardly, before giving him a small smile. “Medicine man trainee and current prisoner of the prince.” Shiro snorted in response, looking at Prince Lance with that look in his eyes that Keith had seen in every other person who’d ever looked at him. It was that fond, special look that Keith didn’t even know  _ existed  _ before coming to the castle. It amazed him that one person could pull that look out of every single person that resided behind these walls.

 

“Great, now that you two have officially met and everything, we really should get going,” Pidge said, shaking Keith’s legs a little. “This boy is not as light as he may appear.” At her words, Hunk stepped forward and resumed his position, cradling Keith’s hips in his arms.

 

“On a scale of one to ten, how much shit am I in for?” Keith asked Shiro before they took off again.

“Like a two, maybe. You’ll be absolutely fine,” Shiro assured him, patting his knee.

 

The prince gasped from behind him, offended. “Um, excuse you! It’s  _ way  _ worse than a two! It’s, like, a solid six and a half at  _ least _ .”

 

Shiro shook his head minutely and repeated himself. “You’ll be fine. Have fun!”

 

Pidge started moving again as soon as Shiro disappeared back into the doorway he’d stepped out of before. She was practically dragging the prince along with her and Hunk as he gripped Keith tighter and mumbled under his breath. Keith ignored him most of the rest of the way, content to lay in his confines and enjoy the leisurely stroll through the castle that he didn’t have to take with his own two feet. He wasn’t too worried about whatever they had in store for him; if it was too bad, he could just magic himself out of it somehow.

 

It wasn’t until Pidge took a sharp turn to trudge down the service staircase that lead to the dusty back corner of the basement that Keith knew exactly where they were going.

 

“Really, guys?” Keith asked as three heads snapped in his direction. He was the first of them to speak in a while. “I literally spend ninety-five percent of my time in the basement, do you really think I don’t know everything that’s down here?”

 

“There’s always a chance,” the prince huffed, purposefully jiggling his shoulders a little. “But if you’re so smart and  _ aware _ , then where are we going?”

 

“The birdbath,” Keith deadpanned. Prince Lance cursed under his breath.

 

“Abort mission, Pidge, he’s onto us,” Lance said, starting to drag his feet. Hunk snickered.

 

“No way in hell, Lance,” Pidge answered, yanking on the lower half of Keith’s body and almost pulling all of them down the stairs. “I’ve carried this stupid body through, like, half of the castle by now. We’re dumping it in the stupid birdbath.”

 

“Stop talking about me like I’m dead,” Keith frowned.

 

“Also, if you and Lance ever end up killing someone, and subsequently have a body to hide, please don’t hide it in the birdbath. That’s the literal worst place ever.” Hunk added.

 

“I think the actual worst place would be in the middle of the floor in some place really public?” Keith offered tentatively. “But I have a question: have none of you ever stopped to wonder why there’s a functioning birdbath in the basement, where an astounding total of zero birds can utilize it? Why the hell is it there?”

 

“I’ve never really thought about it,” Hunk shrugged. The others hummed in agreement.

 

“Maybe it’s technically not a birdbath and it’s just a fountain,” Pidge suggested.

 

“Still weird,” Keith insisted. By then, they’d reached the bottom of the stairs and had approached the birdbath, within close enough quarters for Keith to be placed in it.

 

“Any last words?” the prince asked, squeezing Keith’s shoulders where his hands gripped them.

 

“Maybe you should do some punishment brainstorming, come up with some better ideas,” Keith said with a little grin, shrugging.

 

“Alright, toss ‘em in,” Prince Lance said, letting go of his grip on Keith as Hunk slid his arms underneath him and held him bridal style, gently placing him in the shallow water of the birdbath that he hardly fit in.

 

“I said  _ toss _ , Hunk,” the prince glared. The water felt kind of nice; it was always hot in the castle, and his robe offered little to no ventilation. Keith splashed around a little bit, pretending he was a bird. The glare quickly melted off of the prince’s face, replaced with a look that Keith was unable to identify.

 

“Look at him,” Pidge said in an awed voice, her arms crossed over her chest. “He’s goddamn adorable.”

 

“Ya chose well, buddy,” Hunk said, clapping the prince on the shoulder. Prince Lance snorted but said nothing, simply watching Keith with that look on his face as Keith wiggled his fingertips in the cool substance and followed the ripples with his eyes. The staring was only making him a  _ little  _ uncomfortable; he had a pretty good guess as to why it was occurring, and he hoped they couldn’t see the slight color to his cheeks or hear the rapid beating of his heart in response. That was a thought process for another day.

 

After a few seconds Keith climbed back out of the bath, displacing most of it on the floor as he made his escape. He continued to drip as he stood there, fighting the urge to wring out his clothes and put even more water on the ground.

 

“He even looks cute when he’s wet and awkward,” Hunk said lowly, obviously hoping Keith wouldn’t hear him. He did. The prince nodded his agreement. With a small flick of his wrist and a flow of words in his head, Keith gathered all the water from his clothes and the floor and held it above their heads.  

 

_ Ut ea humida. _

 

He let the water fall as he walked past, giving them all a friendly death glare as he went. How dare they call him cute.

 

“Call me cute again and I’ll kill you,” he shouted cheerfully over their spluttering and sounds of outrage as he made his way back upstairs to change. 


	3. to understand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The castle was his. It was supposed to be his home, his place, his sanctuary. And yet, there wasn’t a single place in it that was truly his. Everywhere he went was somewhere that he had to share.

The castle was his. It was supposed to be his home, his place, his sanctuary. And yet, there wasn’t a single place in it that was truly  _ his _ . Everywhere he went was somewhere that he had to share.

The courtyard was something that was shared equally with his friends, Shay almost never left the kitchen, and Lance wasn’t  _ technically  _ allowed in Shiro’s map room. His bedroom always had two guards outside and a myriad of maids coming in to bring him things or ask if he needed things brought to him. The basement was largely empty except for the medic bay, the library, and the dungeons, but Kolivan and Keith were always busy at work and Coran was practically the librarian considering how much time he spent there, and even if they had prisoners in the dungeons to make it interesting to visit, the guards wouldn’t let him in there anyway.

 

Allura’s room was always filled with Allura, and even when it wasn’t the room still wasn’t  _ his _ , and he hadn’t stepped foot in his father’s room for years, and every other room in the castle was a stuffy supply closet or a room dedicated to a task, a person, a purpose. Most importantly, none of them were rooms eligible for Lance to hide in.

 

If Lance didn’t feel like being stuck in his room with interruptions abound or going to the courtyard and being exposed to the outside world and the possibility of Hunk or Pidge finding him, then he chose the medic bay, although not in the traditional sense.

 

On the third floor, there was a hatch. Once upon a time, an eleven-year-old Lance had climbed (read: fallen. There was a ladder on the wall, but eleven-year-old Lance had not seen the ladder and had just tumbled the equivalent of two stories until a hard surface had stopped him) down that hatch, and had found himself on the reverse side of a second hatch. Upon opening it, Lance had soon discovered that the hatch opened up to the top of the tallest set of shelves in the medic bay. Lance was so far up that he could stand and touch the ceiling, and watching Kolivan work almost required a telescope, since he was on the far side of the room from where Kolivan’s favorite table was stationed.

 

The most important thing about Lance’s discovery, as he later realized, was that he had found something that was almost sort of his. It was hard to think about it like that, since all he had to do was look down and  _ bam,  _ there was another person, but Kolivan had never seen him up here and no one else knew about the hatch, and since Kolivan was so quiet when he worked, it was easy to pretend that he was all on his own. When Lance needed alone time, he could simply sit on top of the shelves for as long as he wanted and watch Kolivan or get lost inside his head or even cry, as long as he was quiet about it.

 

The shelves were Lance’s all-time favorite place, and he had been going there recently to think. He hadn’t been there in five months at  _ leas _ , but it was nice to be back. It seemed a little smaller this time, but he was growing quickly, as Coran liked to point out every single time they crossed paths. Coran felt it was his duty as royal advisor to take over fatherly duties where the king failed, so he spent much of his time with Lance commenting on the man he was growing to be and how successful he was going to be one day. He was last in line for the throne, so Lance would never hear the words from his own dad.

 

His first time back for his most recent stint of shelf-sitting had been to think about Keith, but Lance had quickly realized his mistake when he remembered that Keith was  _ there _ . He was just as quiet as Kolivan, though—seriously, they were like the same person, although Kolivan would never  _ dream  _ of speaking to Lance the way Keith did. Although he regarded Lance as a friend, Kolivan was one of the only people in the castle who still insisted on calling him “prince” or “your highness”, and Lance was positive that would never change.

 

But even with both of them in the room with him, Lance experienced the same ease at completely forgetting they were there when he wanted to. He spent a lot of the time just watching Keith work, though. It was nice to see and succeeded in calming him down more than his own methods ever did. What’s better than watching the boy you might have a crush on learn how to save your life and look good while doing it? Nothing, absolutely nothing.  

 

Today, his fifth time on the shelves in two weeks, Lance was here to think about his dad in conjunction with Keith. In light of his possible feelings for him, Lance had started thinking more and more about what would happen if he told his dad that he liked boys, as well as girls. His father had never really expressed an opinion either way, but if it was anything like how he felt about witches and magic and the supernatural, Lance was definitely never going to tell him. He wanted to keep his life, thank you.

 

But at the same time, Lance couldn’t imagine being in a happy relationship with Keith or any boy and  _ not  _ telling his father about it, whether it was on purpose or on accident. Sure, maybe his father wasn’t the best one in the world and sure, maybe he hadn’t said a word to Lance in almost three months and  _ sure,  _ maybe they hadn’t had a conversation longer or more meaningful than small talk since his mother died, but once upon a time he was  _ important  _ to Lance, and Lance liked to think that he still was.

 

Lance wanted his father to know him, wanted his father to be familiar with him, wanted his father to be involved in his life even though Lance’s life wasn’t the most important thing in his own. The thought of keeping something like this from him made his chest feel weird and heavy, and it made his heart feel like it was beating slower than it had been before.

 

If there was anyone who’d know his father’s stance on the whole thing it would be Coran. Lance couldn’t imagine that  _ he’d  _ ever have a problem with it—because Coran never had a problem with anything—but just because Coran was the closest person to his father and was tasked with talking sense into him any time he needed it didn’t mean that they agreed on everything, and it didn’t mean that his father could look over and accept the same things that Coran could.

 

Lance thought it was kind of funny that he knew where Coran would stand but when he tried to figure out where to peg his very own father, he couldn’t do it. He had no idea. Lance couldn’t even remember the last time they’d talked about something important.

 

His mother used to tell him that he had to be careful about who he let into his life, and not even just because he was a prince and his continued existence was “valuable”. She said that, because he cared so deeply, because he left himself so open for people who wanted to walk right in, he’d come across people who took advantage of the things he had to offer them and never gave him anything in return. She said he’d find people who didn’t care what they did to him as long as they felt good themselves, and that he’d meet people who knew he would take every word that came out of their mouth as law, people that would take every bit of his truth and give him nothing but lies to hold onto when they were gone.

 

Because Lance wasn’t the type who didn’t take shit from other people, wasn’t the type who fought for himself, apparently. Lance was the type who let others decide how much he was worth, how much he could take, what he deserved. His mother said they were exactly the same, she and him.

 

His mother told him that if someone couldn't treat Lance as their equal, they couldn’t love him in the way that he needed them to. She told him that if someone couldn’t work up the courage to tell him important things, then they couldn’t work up the courage to love him the way he needed them to. She told him that if someone couldn’t love him when he was broken, they couldn’t love him when he was whole.

 

Now, many years after his mother had told him these things, it made Lance wonder if she knew she was describing his father. It made him wonder if love was this delicate for everyone or if it was just him, just the way he was. It made him wonder if he’d ever find someone to love him, if he’d ever find someone to treat him right in all of those ways.

 

It made him wonder if that someone could be Keith.

 

Keith had only been here for a few weeks by now, but they’d talked to each other quite a few times since Lance had invited him to play their game in the foyer. Every conversation that took place between them just made Lance like him more, just made Lance want to know even more about him. If things continued the way they were, Lance was going to have a real problem on his hands, in the form of a possibly one-sided homosexual romance.

 

Lance didn’t know what it was about Keith, didn’t know if it was his job in the castle or the way he spoke as if he’d never even considered the fact that Lance was royalty or if it was the way he looked at Lance with this contemplative gleam in his eyes and a slight flush to his cheeks (which was super pretty by the way), but something about him made Lance  _ weak. _

 

Maybe it was just because Keith was the first new person that Lance had gotten to know in  _ years _ , or maybe it was just because Lance was an obsessive weirdo, or maybe it was just because Lance  _ really liked Keith _ . No matter what it was, the thought of an impending conversation with him—even just passing him in the hallway—made Lance’s heart beat faster than it had any right to.

 

So, it was a problem.

 

Lance had not gotten away with this problem going unnoticed by Hunk and Pidge, especially since he’d started this whole thing off by whining about how much he liked Keith before he’d even properly  _ met  _ the guy. Now, every time Lance and his friends and Keith were stuck in the same place, Hunk and Pidge got to witness firsthand the way Lance quietly lost his mind over every new thing he learned about Keith. It was embarrassing, and Lance spent a majority of these instances with a blush crawling up his neck and cheeks, although Keith never seemed to notice.

 

Maybe the God that everyone seemed to believe in really was up there somewhere, watching out for Lance’s gay little ass while he dealt with this.

 

Lance was drawn out of his thoughts by the sudden sound of shuffling beneath him. When Lance had first gotten here the medic bay was empty, but now Keith was standing next to the table below him, frowning at a glass tube in his hands. It was unfairly cute.  _ Who did Keith think he was?  _ Lance was pretty sure he was suffering from heart palpitations.

 

He watched Keith mill around the room, unable to fall back into his fast-paced train of thought with such a good distraction in front of him. He had no idea what Keith was doing or where Kolivan was, but it didn’t take away from the facial expressions Keith made when he was concentrating or confused or frustrated, and didn’t make the experience any less enjoyable for Lance.  

 

Keith’s robes made a quiet swishing sound as he walked around the perimeter of the table and grabbed things off its surface, tucking what he couldn’t hold in his hand under his arm or in the folds on the front of his shirt as he went along. He then moved to a different table completely, a smaller one off to the side that was closer to where Lance was perched and allowed Keith to face him while he worked.

 

After fishing his chosen ingredients out of his clothes and setting everything in a small pile in front of him, Keith took a good five seconds to stare at everything he had collected, a bewildered look on his face like he couldn’t remember why he grabbed half of these things in the first place. Then he was off, scooping up the several plant-matter-esque items from the table and swishing his way over to the far wall that housed shelves upon shelves of pots, swiftly picking one and unceremoniously dumping everything that was clenched in his fist inside.

 

Lance wanted to holler down and ask what he was making but he wasn’t willing to reveal his position, so he watched in silence and tried to deduce the answer himself, even though he knew fuck-all about apothecary practices. It looked like something herbal-y, merely based on the fact that over half of the ingredients had been plants.

 

Lance ran over a list of potions that Kolivan had given him any of the numerous times he’d injured himself in his head, trying to remember which ones tasted the most like leaves and what they’d been used for. It quickly became obvious that Lance didn’t remember much about what Kolivan used to heal him, and he was probably never going to figure out what the hell Keith was making, so he settled for just going back to watching.

 

Keith was taking a medium-sized stone pillar—about the length of his forearm—to the leaves in a mortar and pestle fashion, likely grinding them up (Lance didn’t actually know, since his angle didn’t allow him to see inside of the pot) so they’d be easier to work with. Once he was done, he picked up one of the remaining ingredients on the table—a weirdly shaped vial filled with blue liquid—and tossed it, container and all, into the pot to join the leaves already inside. He then returned the stone pillar to his palm and used it to stir the two together, seemingly unbothered by the pale blue steam that rose from the pot soon after.

 

The last ingredient was added to the mix then, and Lance couldn’t even tell what it was, but it produced a flash of light brighter than anything Lance had ever seen and almost made him fall from the top of the shelves and onto the ground.

 

The stone pillar was abandoned as Keith drew a decent sized vial from his pocket and tipped the pot to pour the potion inside, capping it once he was done. Lance was only a little jealous that Keith managed to pour it without even spilling a little. If it were Lance, most of the potion probably would have ended up on the floor.

 

Lance was once again nearly knocked from his aerially advantageous position when his sister burst into the room, beaming a smile at Keith as she entered.

 

“Hello, Keith! How are you today?” Allura asked, coming to a stop in front of him. Lance shifted forward and squinted down at her, suspicious. Was she here to steal his man?

 

“I’m well, Princess,” Keith responded, giving her a polite smile in return. He shifted on his feet as if he was uncomfortable with the attention— _ you and me both, buddy,  _ Lance thought—avoiding her eyes and staring at the vial in his hand instead. “How are you?”

 

Allura let out a small laugh, patting Keith on the shoulder. “I have no complaints,” she said, shrugging. “You don’t have to call me ‘princess’, by the way. I’m pretty sure Coran and Kolivan are the only ones who do that anymore, and that’s because they’re old and stubborn and like to cling to tiny, inconsequential aspects of tradition. You can just call me Allura.”

 

Keith nodded slowly, adjusting his grip on the glass in his hand before seemingly remembering why it was there and offering it to the girl in front of him. “Okay. Allura it is, then. The potion you asked for is ready. It probably tastes like leaves, but it’ll get the job done.”

 

Allura’s smile brightened as she took the vial from him, inspecting it absentmindedly as she spoke. “Thank you! I should have asked for this  _ days  _ ago.”

 

Now Lance  _ really  _ wanted to know what the potion was for. At least Allura didn’t seem like she was here to flirt with Keith and try to nab him from Lance’s gay little hands, so Lance felt himself relaxing.   

 

“No problem. It was nice to practice making something without Kolivan here to scrutinize it.” Keith said with a little grin. Allura smiled back at him encouragingly, a smile that Lance had seen directed at him more times than he could count.  

 

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” she reassured him, waving her unoccupied hand. “Kolivan would never let you work by yourself if he didn’t trust you to do it right. He’s a bit a perfectionist, so the fact that he let you make something—a potion for the princess, no doubt—means he already has a lot of faith in your abilities.” Even with the distance between them, Lance could see the flush crawling up Keith’s cheeks, and he envied the fact that Allura got to see it up close and personal. He’d have to ask her about it later.

 

After a pause Allura snorted and brought a hand up to her face as she burst out laughing, her eyes crinkling from the force of her smile.

 

“There was once,” she said a moment later as her giggling died down to a manageable level, “when Lance wanted to learn how to make the potion that stops hiccuping, because he can make himself burp, but every time he does it makes him have uncontrollable hiccups afterwards that can last for hours. So Kolivan said he’d teach him, but Lance is more of a ‘just wing-it’ kind of a guy—which is not the personality type that goes hand and hand with precise medical work—so after two hours of Lance fucking up and Kolivan sprouting grey hairs, Kolivan declared that Lance wasn’t allowed to make anything else until he ‘matured’ and agreed to do it Kolivan’s way. Lance hasn’t asked to make anything since.”

 

Now Keith was giggling too, and Lance was sitting leaned forward with his legs crossed and his mouth agape, staring at an oblivious Allura with wide eyes. So she didn’t come to flirt with Keith, she came to  _ expose  _ her wonderful, benevolent little brother who had never done anything wrong, ever. So that was how it was going to be.

 

“That seems like something he would do,” Keith said with a bright grin that made Lance’s heart absolutely melt.

 

“Speaking of Lance,” Allura segued, a mischievous lilt to her voice that put him immediately on edge. “What do you think about him?” Keith’s gaze immediately dropped to the floor, a light blush dusting his cheeks that Lance almost couldn’t even see.

 

“He’s… interesting,” Keith said, staring intensely at his feet that just barely peeked out from under the hem of his robe. Lance almost squeaked in protest before Keith seemed to realize how his comment sounded and met Allura’s eyes with a panicked look, fumbling as he rushed to further his train of thought. “N-not in a bad way, I just mean that he’s  _ different  _ than I expected.” Keith’s voice seemed to die in his throat, an uncertain look on his face that Lance immediately decided didn’t suit him at all.

 

“Different how?” Allura questioned softly, her features curious and lacking judgment. Keith sighed a little and forcibly relaxed his muscles, bringing his eyes back up to meet hers.

 

“Before I came to the castle I used to hear about him a lot, mostly about the fact that he’d probably never rule since he was the last in line for the throne in his own family and couldn’t marry into the throne of another family, seeing as all of their children had been slotted into arranged marriages since birth and there was no one left for him,” Keith explained, folding his hands in front of him. “Before I met him, I thought that people would treat him the same way they talked about him, like he was pointless to have around and didn’t serve much of a purpose as far as the empire was concerned. But coming here, watching the way faces light up when he’s in the room and the way the tension seems to melt off their shoulders like whatever they were worried about two seconds ago doesn’t  _ matter  _ anymore was—it was a shock. It made me realize that the likelihood that someone will sit on a throne doesn’t define how important they are, which I guess I already should have known, considering my social standing.” Keith finished his little speech with a shrug, as if Lance and Allura weren’t both silently staring at him in wonder from two different spots in the room.

 

Allura finally responded with a genuine smile and a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. “People probably treat him like that ‘cause he’s gay.” Keith’s eyes widened as he inhaled quickly and choked on his own spit, coughing into his hand as Allura playfully grimaced and corrected herself. “Half gay. Boys only hold fifty percent of his heart.”

 

Lance stared at her incredulously.  _ Real subtle, Allura. Nice job. _

 

Keith unknowingly joined Lance in his staring at Allura when he finished hacking up a lung, his features pinched in a simultaneously cautious and pensive fashion as he worked himself up for something. Allura waited patiently for him to find his words, her head tilted to the side just enough for it to be noticeable.

 

“Does he—Do you know if he has a crush on me?” Keith asked finally, almost absentmindedly with his eyes glazed over, obviously someplace else. Lance was staring at Keith now, wondering he was really that translucent, if Keith was really that observant, or if someone else in the castle really wanted them to get together and didn’t have time for them to play the “does he like me” game. The last one was probably the most likely; now all Lance had to do was figure out who the snitch was. Lance himself wasn’t even sure if he had a crush on Keith yet. How could somebody else know?

 

“Probably. I don’t know if it’s official yet, but give him two weeks and daily doses of interactions between the two of you and he will.” Allura answered. Lance cursed her for knowing him so well, even though she had almost nothing to go off of. Love wasn’t exactly something Lance had a lot of experience in, but it seemed to follow him around everywhere. Keith took another moment to answer, shifting his feet.

 

“Will he mean it?” Lance had to stop and think about his words but Allura seemed to understand what he meant immediately, her features melting into something softer, more serious.

 

“Yes. Lance is one of the craziest, loudest, most oblivious people I know, and he hasn’t had much experience with love or even people outside the walls of this castle, but he doesn’t do a single thing without throwing his entire heart into it. That’s why you’re the first new staff member we’ve in  _ years _ , because Lance has grown up with these people and he’s gotten to know them, and he’s grown so attached to them that he doesn’t  _ want  _ a new tailor, even if we might benefit from employing someone younger who knows new techniques, because he can’t imagine a better one than the one we have now. It’s why his two best friends are people who are supposed to work for him, because to him they’re not  _ servants  _ or  _ slaves _ , they’re real people with real personalities that he’s sought out and gotten to know and grown fond of. When Pidge first came to the castle, she was the shyest person I’d ever met and wouldn’t talk to anyone but her brother. She saw Lance as superior and she was deathly afraid of saying the wrong thing to him—even if they were the same age—so she pretty much didn’t say anything at all. But Lance didn’t want it to be like that, so he literally pushed all of the furniture he was able to move in his room in front of his door and refused to let anyone in until Pidge agreed to work past the stigmas separating them and befriended him. Which, funnily enough, was the same thing he did when he was assigned his current guards, too. He’s just—he’s one of the purest and most genuine people I know, and he had a bit of a rocky childhood, but he’s never let it stop him or get in his way. If he does have a crush on you, Keith, he’ll mean it more than anything he’s ever done.”

 

Keith was silent for a moment before a small, pleased smile broke out across his face, making it glow. “He locks himself in his room a lot, doesn’t he?” Allura laughed, nodding her head enthusiastically.

 

“Yeah. It’s the only way he knows how to deal with his problems.”

 

Lance quickly became aware of the fact that he was sitting on top of the shelves with his mouth wide open, his tongue quickly drying out as his head spun from the emotional rollercoaster that he’d just been forced to ride on. Lance had never heard Allura say such nice things about him in his  _ entire life _ , and to turn around and hear so many at once was a little overwhelming. Was that how everyone saw him? He thought he was just being nice. It shocked Lance to think that maybe who he was went a little above and beyond what was normal.

 

But still, this was too much mush for his brain to handle and it was officially out of order, so before Lance could think about it or stop himself he was yelling out an offended “ _ Hey! _ ” and glaring down at where Allura and Keith were on ground level.

 

Both of their heads whipped in his direction with wide eyes, their hands coming out to steady themselves as they physically jumped back and had a heart attack at the same time. At least, that’s what it looked like they were doing.

 

“What the fuck are you  _ doing _ , Lance?” Keith asked, his voice hoarse and his pulse beating visibly in his neck. Lance took a second to analyze the twinge in his chest that occurred at Keith saying his name. Lance was pretty sure this was the first time that Keith had even properly addressed him, let alone doing it using his name, no strings or fancy titles attached. Lance  _ really  _ liked the way it sounded when Keith said his name, even if this time it sounded like he was going to pass out in the next five seconds.

 

“How long have you been up there?” Allura asked next when it was obvious that Lance wasn’t going to answer the last question.

 

“Long enough to hear you  _ insulting me _ ,” Lance said petulantly, crossing his arms over his chest for good measure.

 

Allura threw her hands up and rolled her eyes, swiping the vial off the surface of the table where she’d set it down without Lance noticing and giving Keith a little wave. “Well, thanks for the drugs, Keith. See you later.”

 

Lance yelped and shot forward, holding out his hand like it would stop her from leaving. Lance wasn’t sure why, but his heart was beating quickly and his head felt a little bit like it was filled with cotton and his chest felt heavy, like he could hardly breathe. It felt like he needed to say something, whether it was to address what he’d just heard or to share what he thought about it or even just to say _ something _ , but in that moment the English language escaped him completely, leaving him gaping like the goddamn fish Coran had caught in the sea that one time.

 

And then, with the help of the panicked shouts from Allura and the mumbly yelp from Keith, Lance realized he’d propelled himself a bit too far and was now falling, off the shelves and towards the unforgiving, unyielding stone floor. Kolivan hadn’t mentioned that he wanted new red tiles, but Lance figured it would serve as a nice surprise.

 

Lance felt a drag on his limbs that got stronger the closer he got to the ground before he flipped in midair and fell a few more feet, landing on his back with a solid-sounding thud. His pounding head could hardly make out the sounds of shuffling footsteps as they moved forward, and the dull fingers of pain spreading from his back to the rest of his body distracted him so much that he hadn’t really thought about opening his eyes until Allura kneeled next to him and slapped his cheeks and made him.

 

With his eyes open, Lance could see the vial of thin purple liquid that Keith was shoving in his face with a concerned yet unimpressed twist to his features.

 

“You’re an idiot, Lance,” Keith murmured as Lance took the vial from him. He decided he liked it even more when Keith said his name all soft and low like that, even if it was paired with an insult. It sent pleasant tingles down his otherwise unhappy spine.

 

“I know,” Lance said with a nonchalant grin after he’d swallowed the mostly tasteless liquid and pulled himself into a sitting position with help from both of them. “But hey, it didn’t hurt as bad as I thought.”

 

Keith smiled and got to his feet, shaking his head as he turned around and walked away, making sure the hem of his robe brushed over Lance’s lap as he swished his way across the room.


	4. why

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe using magic around him was a calculated risk he should take, and maybe it was a completely stupid idea that would end up with his head on a stake, but Keith knew he would probably have a hard time convincing himself of either one.
> 
>  
> 
> Nothing about Lance or magic was easy, it seemed.

It had been a couple weeks since Keith had interacted with Lance, Pidge or Hunk more than just seeing them in passing. In fact, Keith wasn’t sure he’d said a word to Lance since he fell from the top of the shelves in the medic bay. He still had a lot of questions about what had happened that day, but Keith figured that, even if he had the time to ask Lance about them, it was probably better if he didn’t.

 

One major thing was different, though; Keith no longer thought of Lance as a prince.

Obviously, he still did, but it didn’t feel like treason to think or speak about him as just “Lance” instead of Lance plus all the fancy titles, too. His talk with Allura made it clear that the titles weren’t just something shoved aside by Pidge and Hunk because of their relationship or waved away for appearances, it was something that Lance cared about deeply; it was his way to take away a layer between him and his people. Lance didn’t want to be superior to them if it meant getting things that they didn’t get, if it meant being treated differently for something that he himself hadn't done anything to earn. Lance just wanted to be Lance, no matter what his job was, and Keith could respect that.

 

And, if the thought of walking up to Lance and calling by his name put butterflies in his stomach, then that was something that no one else needed to know about.

 

However, Keith hadn’t gotten much practice looking Lance in the eyes and letting his name roll off his tongue because Kolivan had decided that, after successfully making a potion for Allura, Keith should start doing more around the medic bay. Namely, learning how to clean every utensil the “proper way”. It was incredibly boring and Keith spent most of the time wishing he was literally anywhere else, but he knew it was important and that it had to be done, so he forced himself to do it anyway.

The tiny knowing smirk that Kolivan constantly sent his way as if he knew how much it was taking for Keith to be here didn’t help at  _ all _ , though.

 

Finally, after a long morning of mopping every inch of the suddenly quite expansive medic bay floor, one of Shiro’s generals came to Kolivan with an important order that Keith couldn’t be a part of, so he was excused for the rest of the day.

 

Now that he was free, Keith had no idea what to do with his time.

 

His first thought was obviously to find Lance, but the castle was decently large and finding someone could take some time, and he didn’t want to just invite himself to hang out with him anyway. Aside from that, Keith wasn’t aware of literally anything else to do, so he made his way back to his room slowly, praying that the peaceful, scenic walk would take the edge off his already growing boredom.

The castle was astronomically more modest than Keith was expecting when Kolivan first approached him with his offer, and a bit eclectic, too. Take the birdbath in the basement, for example. It had its own room and everything, and not a single person seemed to know why it was there.

 

The halls were covered in art imported from all over the empire, depicting everything from the beachy shores of the far coast to the dappled shade of the middleland to the grassy openness of the wide plains. Their empire incorporated a bit of every biome, and although Keith had never lived within most of them, since he’d never ventured outside of the fair-weathered castle district (which was composed of the castle grounds and the few small towns closest to it, people who lived close enough to attend castle parties and events), staring at these paintings for long enough made him feel like he was there.  

 

In every hallway, corridor, alcove and room there was at least one window: large, glass, and rectangular in shape, framed by dark wood that contrasted the light gold-beige of the walls. Most of the windows were accompanied by curtains but they were hardly ever closed, always thrown wide open to let in as much sunlight as possible and to provide a view to anyone who was walking past.

The castle almost didn’t feel like a castle, not in the way Keith had pictured in his mind before he stepped foot inside. It felt more like a  _ home  _ than anything else, and Keith thought that was probably pretty hard to achieve.

 

Every residential hallway had a few details added by the people who lived there, collected and altered over years and years. Keith’s room was in the far west wing, planted in the third corridor on the left that branched from the main hall, the very last door on the right, as far from the main part of the castle as you could get. Keith had requested it.

 

As far as he knew, only two of the other rooms in his hall were occupied, and the personal touch was a bit lacking. Keith didn’t have anything to add to it, unless he wanted to steal an empty vial from the medic bay and place it on the simple, dark, wooden pedestal that currently supported a stuffed rabbit named Clarisse (Keith only knew its name because it had a shiny plaque to go along).   

 

When Keith stepped inside his room, his eyes immediately flit to piece of paper lying innocently on his desk, simply because it was the only thing that had ever been on it. Keith walked over to it and leaned over it to read what it said, inexplicably reluctant to touch it until he knew what it was for.

 

_ Dear Keith, _

_ A little birdie told me you had the rest of the day off. Lance is out in the field right now, doing target practice. We tried to get him to invite you, but he didn’t want to seem like he was trying to show off. What a loser, right? Anyway, you should come. Hunk and I will be in the judge's box above the stands where the crowd sits if you want to join us. The stairs leading up to it are pretty obvious if you come from the east. If you need help finding the field, ask Shiro. If you need help finding Shiro, ask literally anyone else. He’s not hard to find. See you soon, hopefully! _

_ Pidge xx _

 

Keith read the note again before he allowed a smile to spread across his lips, wider than he anticipated. He was suddenly glad no one could see him, because smiling wasn’t really his thing and he probably looked stupid doing it.

 

Keith looked around his room before his eyes landed on the only pair of clothes he had that didn’t resemble a robe, thrown over the dusty chair in the corner. Keith hadn’t worn them a few weeks, but he figured if he was free for the rest of the day then now was a good time to reintroduce them to his body. He’d take pants over a robe any day, but most days pants weren’t an option, so he wanted to take advantage of this opportunity while he had it.

 

Keith changed quickly, noticing for the first time that the clothes had been washed since the last time he wore them. He literally had no idea when that happened, but he appreciated the fresh smell that wafted off of them as he started back down the hall, winding his way toward where he remembered Shiro’s map room being. It was different, walking the route with his own two feet instead of being carried, but he found it eventually.

 

Keith hesitated by the door, remembering that he had been dismissed because of a military issue to begin with, unsure if he’d be interrupting something if he stepped inside.

 

“Come in, Keith,” Shiro’s voice called through the open doorway, causing Keith to jump and stumble into the wall next to him. After brushing himself off Keith did as he was told, stepping through the door timidly. Shiro smiled at him brightly as soon as he raised his eyes, his palms pressed flat against the torso-height map table in the center of the room as he leaned against it and watched Keith with mirth dancing in his warm eyes.

 

What was with everyone in this goddamn castle being so  _ likeable? _

 

“How did you, um, know I was here?” Keith asked, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Shiro shrugged casually, trying to wipe the smile from his face.

 

“I’m the general of the king’s army,” Shiro answered. “And, you drag your feet when you walk. It’s loud.”

 

Keith looked down at his feet, humming in the back of his throat. He hadn’t noticed.

 

“Pidge said you could help me find the field,” Keith said after a second, crossing his arms over his chest as he shifted slightly on his feet. Shiro’s smile widened and he huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he stood up straight.

 

“Target practice?’ he asked, looking like he already knew the answer. Keith nodded anyway, wondering briefly if it was something he should be concerned about, if  _ he  _ would be the target. Shiro walked (on completely silent feet, as Keith was now aware) to the window on the far wall that was facing Keith and pointed to something that could be seen very vaguely in the distance. “Walk out the service entrance by the kitchen, turn left, walk for about seven minutes until the looming shape in the distance becomes a giant stadium right in front of you. Can’t miss it.”

 

Keith thanked him and waved as he walked awkwardly back out of the room, letting his mind wander as he thought about what he might find at this target practice. He didn’t know that Lance even had anything  _ to  _ practice, so it was a little hard to imagine what he’d find once he got there. The whole idea of it was a strange mix of amusing and impressive, picturing Lance with a weapon of some sort, trying to aim it. It inspired Keith to walk faster.

 

It didn’t take him as long to get to the kitchen as he’d expected, and he was strangely proud of the fact that he’d been able to find it. The castle wasn’t super huge, but Keith has spent most of his time holed up in the basement and had really only seen the rest of the castle when he was running around with Lance. For only a few months of minimal exposure, he figured he was doing pretty good.

 

Keith waved at Shay in the kitchen before he pushed open the door and stepped outside, taking a deep breath of the clean air. The Altean Empire was vast, carved into sections dictated by geographical features and heavily disputed borderlines with the castle district situated in the very center, composed of the fairest climate and prettiest landscape the empire had to offer. It had been a big reason why Keith survived his childhood as an orphan; the weather had been nothing but kind to him. He couldn’t even remember that last time it had gotten worse than a little rain.

 

Keith had heard stories from other places where the air was heavy with moisture all the time, where the sun was an unrelenting force and the wind had a vendetta against everything. He was eternally grateful to be in castle district, where the weather was none of those things.

 

After taking several steps in the general direction he’d been pointed in, Keith began to pick a looming shape out of the horizon. As he continued in its direction, he was shocked by the sheer size of it. It was almost bigger than the actual castle itself.

 

The stands were made of dark wood and the flag of the empire flew at the top of each massive vertical support beam, waving in the air many feet above the top of the stands. The amphitheater looked big enough to seat the entire castle district plus some, which Keith supposed was the point of it. He wondered how often it was used, considering he hadn’t heard it mentioned before now. Granted, it wasn’t jousting, horse racing, or bear fighting season, but Keith figured they would’ve used it in the off-season for something as well. Maybe it was reserved for Lance and his target practice.

 

Keith found his way to the judge's box staircase fairly quickly and began to hear grunts and gentle thuds and heavy breathing as he rose higher. The staircase plateaued for a few feet and gave access to a mid-level balcony, where Keith stopped to look out over the inside of the arena. Rows upon rows of empty benches stared back at him, covered in leaves and dirt and the occasional (live) squirrel. The arena floor was made of packed dirt and looked so far away at this height that Keith wondered how the judges ever saw anything in their box that was several flights of stairs higher.

 

Now that he could see the arena in its entirety, he noticed it was more of a horseshoe shape than it was a complete oval, because the far end of the oval had been chopped off and replaced by a cliff. Keith could just barely see the ocean beyond the cliff’s edge, but he could smell and hear it much better. The stands stopped only a few feet from the drop-off, far enough to where spectators could still feel the exhilaration of being so close but couldn’t actually see over the ledge.

 

Positioned fairly close to the precipice and sectioned off from the rest of the arena floor by a wooden fence was a stone platform with a small rectangular hole in the very center. Keith didn’t have to think for very long before he was able to identify it, able to understand what it was used for.

 

Despite all that, by far the most interesting part of the field was the tall, caramel-skinned prince running around in common clothes with sweat on his brow and in his hair and glistening on his slender neck, disappearing under the collar of the shirt that Keith wished he wasn’t wearing. He watched as Lance lifted a crossbow in front of his body and fired it as he ran, hitting the center of a target that Keith hadn’t noticed until then.

 

It took him a minute to understand why he was running, the situation becoming clear when he saw the arrow that had just been shot be wrenched from the target by a disembodied metal arm and thrown back in Lance’s direction, more aggressively than Keith would’ve imagined for a simple retrieval. Lance was shooting the targets, and the targets were shooting back. 

Keith shook his limbs out before he got too distracted and continued up the stairs, watching the wooden support beams pass him as he went.

 

“Keith! Glad you could join us,” Hunk said as soon as Keith stepped into the judge's box, not bothering to take his eyes off of Lance as he did.

 

“Glad I could be here,” Keith answered, continuing forward until he was standing between Hunk and Pidge at the railing that separated the box from the stands a couple feet below.

 

“Lance has already been out here for a couple hours so he’ll probably stop soon, but I thought you might enjoy coming out to take a look,” Pidge said, her face concentrated as she followed Lance’s form with her eyes. Keith couldn’t see any of his details from this height, but he could still appreciate the way he muscles shifted under his tawny bronze skin as he kicked up dirt.

 

“How long has he been shooting a crossbow?” Keith asked, deciding to dedicate his attention to Lance’s performance just like those on either side of him were. It was the most interesting thing to look at, anyway.

 

“Several years. About five, I think. He picked it up as a coping mechanism when his mom died and pretty much just never stopped. I think it helps him clear his head and focus, because it doesn’t really allow for being distracted by anything else.” Pidge said, far more casually than Keith would’ve imagined possible. He hummed in response, letting the sound of Lance’s target practice fill the empty space between them for a long moment.

 

“Hunk and I invented the arms,” Pidge eventually said after a while, her voice scratchy from disuse. “You know, the arms firing the arrows back at him. A couple years ago he started complaining that his practice was getting too easy, since he could shoot a bullseye on every kind of target we had—stationary and moving and super, super tiny—with ease. It wasn’t a challenge anymore, didn’t keep him as engaged as it used to, so we figured, hey. What if he had to dodge and shoot at the same time? And thus, the arms were born.”

 

“King Alfor was pretty reluctant about installing them in the arena, but I think he realized how important it was to Lance, so he let it go. It also might’ve been mostly because of Coran.” Hunk added, crossing his arms over his chest. Keith had heard of Coran the Royal Advisor several times, especially when he was hanging out with these three, but he’d never had the pleasure of meeting him. He sounded like an... interesting guy.  

 

“You guys are too smart for me,” Keith sighed longingly, copying Hunk and crossing his arms. Pidge laughed, bringing her eyes away from Lance long enough to make eye contact and grin at him

“We’re just a different kind of smart,” she replied, leaning against the rail. “You can stick to medicine and we’ll stick to rudimentary mechanics.”  

 

Hunk gasped an offended breath, reaching out to blindly smack at Pidge. “Our mechanics are  _ not  _ rudimentary.”

 

“Uh huh,” Pidge mocked, pushing his hand away. “Whatever you say, Hunk.”

 

Silence fell over them again as Lance continued at fire away at the targets far above him, his features obviously concentrated, even from here. Lance had no problem dodging the arrows sent back at him, swiftly side-stepping out of their way in a flurry of dust before grabbing it from the dirt and notching it, pulling it back and releasing it, one hundred percent accurate every time. It was so goddamn unfair. Not even Keith’s magic was that precise.

 

“He’s pretty good at this,” Keith broke the silence this time, cursing his voice for giving away just how impressed he was. Pidge hummed in agreement as Hunk sighed and said, “I know,” longingly. Keith snorted softly in response, a small smile on his face.

 

The one thing Keith had noticed about the mechanic arms sending the arrows back to Lance was that Lance kind of had to stand where they were going to aim instead of them aiming where he was going to stand. It was super easy for him to dodge them, because he had to put himself in their way to begin with.

 

Lance had said he wanted a challenge, right? Maybe it was something Keith could help out with.

 

_ Eum mitterent sagittas. _

 

Keith let out a soft exhale as the magic rushed through his body, making his skin tingle. His favorite part of using his magic was that, if he opened his eyes fast enough and focused them hard enough, he could see the slight shimmer of it in the air before it hit its intended target. His magic was sparkly and pale red, and it made him smell like the smoke that wafted from the gentle flames of the torches on the walls of the castle.

 

The first time Keith discovered this, he completely panicked. What if other people could see it, smell it, trace it back to him? What if it got him caught? He had snuck out of his room and spent an entire night cooped up in a dark corner of the monastery library with every book about witches that he could find, frantically searching through the pages. He eventually learned that often, the only people who could detect the traces of his magic—such as the smell of the sight of it in the air—were other people with the ability to use magic themselves. The only thing he could do was hope that other witches wouldn’t turn him in if he was discovered.

 

“Why did Lance just yelp like a goddamn chicken?” Pidge muttered under her breath, raising a slender eyebrow. Keith refocused his eyes from where they’d crossed while he was zoned out and scrutinized the effects of his spell, the way Lance was running faster and turning more sharply to avoid the arrows flying his way. He didn’t seem confused or suspicious in the slightest, just determined to go as hard as the mechanical arms wanted him to.  

 

“He almost got hit by an arrow,” Hunk offered casually, seemingly unconcerned.

 

“Damn, we’re good. I didn’t know our rudimentary mechanical arms were capable of getting that close to him.” Pidge said, offering a blind high five to Hunk in front of Keith’s crossed arms. Hunk searched around for a few moments before he found Pidge’s hand and patted his palm against hers in the softest high five Keith had ever witnessed.

 

“What if he actually does get hit?” Keith asked, his voice more amused than concerned, following the trend set by the other two. If they weren’t worried, there was no reason for him to be.

 

“You’re the medicine man. Fix him,” Pidge said with a shrug.

 

“Yup. You’ve now assumed full responsibility for Lance’s clumsy ass,” Hunk continued. “I don’t know if Kolivan has told you, but Lance hurts himself a  _ lot _ .”  

 

“I’m not the least bit surprised,” Keith sighed in defeat.

 

As far as his added challenge went, Lance was doing pretty well. Keith still hadn’t seen him miss a single target, and although he seemed to stray towards the outer edges of the center circle in his haste, not one of his arrows actually left the bullseye. Keith couldn’t make it any more difficult for him without it being obvious that it was being manipulated, so he just sat back and watched the arc of Lance’s spine as he dove out of the way and left a trail of sweat droplets behind him in the dirt. Without looking at the arrows or the targets or the crossbow, it almost seemed like Lance was dancing. Keith had always regarded combat as something blunt and hardened with rough edges, but Lance made it look as fluid and soft as the ocean waves roaring behind him.

 

Even with the sweat-drenched hair and the heaving chest and the flushed face (which were all added bonuses, truthfully), Lance looked relaxed and graceful in a way that Keith doubted he was ever able to replicate outside of what he was doing now. It reminded Keith of the way he felt when he was working with Kolivan, although he doubted he looked his good while doing it. Alchemy, both magical and natural, had always been Keith’s specialty, the thing he felt most comfortable doing and the thing he was able to lose himself in. It was far less showy than what Lance was doing, but Keith knew it wasn’t an attempt to show off; it was what he needed to soothe this mind, and that was something Keith easily understood.

 

Watching Lance bend his body like he didn’t know what it was like to stand up straight drew attention to how flexible he really was, and it made Keith want to sprint down there and dodge arrows with him. Keith had never felt more unathletic in his life than he did now, standing here observing him, and it was making him ansty, making him want to run around and be moving just like Lance was.

Fortunately, his mind understood that he would accomplish nothing but making a fool of himself and convinced his limbs that he was satisfied to drool over the way Lance twisted and bent and ran and aimed and shot like his life depended on it (and, maybe it did).

 

The three of them only observed Lance for about fifteen more minutes before the arms stopped moving. Lance immediately threw his crossbow to the ground and doubled over, obviously trying to catch his breath. Beads of sweat dripped from his forehead and splattered onto the dusty dirt below, kicking up a little storm each time.

 

“That’s four hours!” Hunk called, lifting his hand up to cup around his mouth as he yelled down to Lance.

 

“Lance used to come out here and train all day, which was really hard on his body, so eventually we programmed the arms to stop after four hours. Lance was livid the first time it happened.” Pidge explained with a grin, nodding to where Lance was still folded in half.

 

As they watched, Lance raised his head to look at up at them and immediately yelped, his body jolting before falling sideways like a log. He pushed himself up as fast as he could and gaped up at the judge's box as he struggled to rearrange his limbs on the ground. It seemed as though his muscles had decided to take a break.

 

“You didn’t tell me Keith was here!” Or, maybe his body had stopped working because of Keith. “I’m all sweaty!”

 

Pidge almost audibly rolled her eyes from where she stood next to Keith and stood on her tiptoes as she replied, “Get your lazy ass up and get moving! I’m hungry.” Lance groaned and flopped on the ground as Keith laughed and Hunk ushered them out of the box and back down the stairs to ground level.

 

Lance was standing at the bottom of the staircase waiting for them when they arrived, and he somehow looked like he was feeling better after a four-hour workout than Keith was after descending at least five flights of stairs. Perhaps Keith needed to spend more time on the “preventative” side of medicine, since he was already so familiar with the “corrective” side.

 

“You know how I said I was hungry?” Pidge began, a dangerous twinkle in her eye as they came to a stop in front of where Lance was standing with a hand on his hip. “It reminded me of something.”

“And what did it remind you of?” Lance asked while quirking a brow, his voice thin and breathy. Not that Keith was paying attention to the way Lance’s voice sounded.

 

“Chicken racing,” Pidge responded, pulling a groan from both Lance and Hunk.

 

Keith looked between the three of them with a pinched brow, his arms crossed over his chest. When none of them looked like they were going to explain themselves, he spoke up.

 

“What the hell is ‘chicken racing’? Are you gonna pull chickens out of your ass or something?” Pidge rolled her eyes and put her hand on Keith’s shoulder, patting it patronizingly.

 

“No, child. It’s a game where there are teams of two and one person from each team is chosen as a chicken and the other person is their rider, and then the rider gets on the chicken’s back and the teams race.” Keith stared at her for a few seconds to see if she was joking, but it didn’t look like she was. He wrinkled his nose.

 

“How is that  _ fun? _ ”

 

“It’s more fun if you’re not the chicken,” Pidge shrugged, dropping her hand. “I call Hunk as my teammate!” Hunk and Pidge shared a high five while Lance took a good thirty seconds to glare at Pidge, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

 

“You’re a pain in my flavorful ass, you know that?” Lance said with a tired sort of venom as he walked closer to Keith and stood beside him.

 

“You don’t have to advertise,” Pidge retorted before hopping onto Hunk’s back and making herself comfortable. Lance sputtered and waved his arms at Pidge before he settled for flipping her off and shifted in front of Keith, squatting down.

 

“What are you doing?” Keith asked, staring at the display with an eyebrow raised. Lance craned his head back to look at him, waving his fingers in a somewhat impatient “come hither” motion as he glanced at him expectantly.

 

“Get on my back,” Lance said by way of explanation.

 

“You just ran around for four hours,” Keith protested, his arms feeling more and more awkward the longer he stood there with them dangling by his sides. He crossed them over his chest again. Lance huffed impatiently and wiggled his fingers again, even going so far as to stomp his foot a little.

 

“Trust me,” he said. “Just get on.” Keith could feel Pidge and Hunk’s eyes on them as he sighed and unfolded his arms, stepping closer and pulling himself onto Lance’s back. They wobbled for a moment before Lance’s legs secured themselves, straightening out until he was standing at his full height. Keith wasn’t used to being up this high, and he wasn’t used to feeling Lance’s muscles underneath his fingertips, and he especially wasn’t used to the feeling of Lance’s waist between his thighs, but he couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy any of it.

 

When he was up this close Lance smelled like sweat, but Keith found that he didn’t mind, and he knew he’d mourn the moment the race was over and he had to detach himself from Lance’s gentle warmth. Maybe it was for the best, however, lest Keith get carried away and try to run his hands through Lance’s damp hair or bury his face in his neck or something.

 

Lance took a few steps and saddled up with Pidge and Hunk at the impromptu starting line, shifting his legs into an athletic but stable position as Keith tried to will the blush away from his pale cheeks. Luckily, the other team seemed to be fully engaged in the race now and Lance couldn’t see his face, so he was in the clear.

 

“We’re gonna kick your ass,” Lance said cockily as they waited for the countdown.

 

“Yeah, okay,” Pidge replied, sticking her tongue out. “Count us down, Hunk.”

 

“On your mark,” Hunk said, mimicking Lance’s footing.

 

“Get set,” Pidge continued, tightening her grip on Hunk’s shoulders.

 

“GO!” Lance yelled, the sound of it vibrating through Keith’s chest where it was pressed against Lance’s back. He was jostled a bit as Lance took off running as fast as he could manage with a passenger, but he managed to hold on and keep his weight shifted toward Lance’s center of gravity so that he didn’t accidentally pull them backward. Not that Keith would tell anyone, but this was his first time riding on someone’s back. His childhood hadn’t exactly allowed for such activities, and to be honest, he hadn’t really ever even thought about them. Now, though, he figured that he might’ve been missing out on something. It was  _ fun _ .

 

Hunk got an immediate lead on them, pulling several steps ahead while Lance stayed a consistent distance behind him, seemingly unconcerned about the gap. The castle wasn’t that far away, so they didn’t have that many opportunities to pull ahead if they wanted to win.

 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Keith asked, leaning down to speak into Lance’s ear. Keith couldn’t see, only hear, the responding grin in his voice.

 

“I’m great.” Although, despite his reassurance, his pace didn’t pick up and the castle grew closer with every step. It wasn’t that Keith was terribly concerned with winning, but he figured Lance probably was. Just as he was about to reach into his mind and pluck out a spell to speed them up and help them win, Lance blew out a long breath that Keith could feel against his chest and began to churn his legs faster, passing Hunk and Pidge in a few long strides and shooting a grin at them as he did.

 

“Hey! What the hell?” Pidge yelled, followed by her chanting at Hunk and urging him to pick up the pace. It was too little, too late, however, because not even thirty seconds later they had slammed (in a calculated manner) into the wall next to the service door by the kitchens, a good several seconds before the other two. Keith whooped victoriously from his perch, unable to keep the dumb grin from crinkling his flushed cheeks. Lance let go of one of his legs and lifted his hand up for a high five, even though Keith had done nothing but slow Lance down.

 

“Next time I call a one-on-one race,” Pidge declared as Hunk dumped her off next to where they were standing. Lance released Keith’s other leg and he slid off his back, only a little disoriented to be back on his own two feet.

 

“I’m still gonna win,” Lance said through the return of his heavy breathing. Keith imagined his legs probably felt like jelly right then.

 

“I don’t know,” Hunk said with a secretive smile. “We have a wildcard now.” It took Keith only a second to realize he was talking about him, and he raised his palms placatingly.

 

“I can assure you that I won’t be robbing anyone of their champion title,” he told them.

 

“Maybe you can come to practice with me next time, then,” Lance said, slapping him lightly on the shoulder as he walked past him and opened the door. “We’ll get you there.”

 

Keith flushed again as he followed the three of them back into the castle. As they walked into the kitchen and gathered around Hunk (who acted as the assistant chef when Shay needed help), Keith thought back over his interactions with the trio since he’d come to the castle. He thought about how easily the concept of using magic came to him when he was around them, and wondered why he wasn’t gripped by the usual fear that came with using his powers in public.

 

Growing up in the world that he had, he’d always been petrified to use his magic anywhere where someone might catch him. The thought of being killed for his powers had hung over his head ever since he’d discovered he had the ability, and nothing had been able to chase it from the front of his mind. But since coming here, he’d used it more than he probably ever had, and it was almost always around other people.

 

Keith didn’t know what it was about the people in this castle that made him feel at home and safe and welcome, but it was going to get him in a lot of trouble if he didn’t learn how to reel it in. Keith wasn’t ashamed of who he was, but there was a time and a place, and this was not—would never be—it.

 

Especially with Lance. Keith had almost used his magic just to make sure Lance won a stupid race against his friends. If Keith got caught over something so  _ stupid,  _ he’d never forgive himself. He knew it was going to be hard, though. Lance hadn’t even ever asked Keith for anything and it was still impossible to say no to him. All he had to do was indicate that he wanted something and Keith was itching to give it to him, itching to be the reason that bright smile was stretched across his cheeks.

Maybe using magic around him was a calculated risk he should take, and maybe it was a completely stupid idea that would end up with his head on a stake, but Keith knew he would probably have a hard time convincing himself of either one.

 

Nothing about Lance or magic was easy, it seemed. 


	5. everyone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance had almost forgotten how vivid his nightmares could get when he was really, truly afraid. People had always told him he was creative, and his unconscious mind seemed to agree always dreaming up the most horrifyingly detailed situations to put him in. Sometimes he had trouble convincing himself that none of it was real.

Lance hadn’t had a nightmare in years.

 

He’d had them really bad after his mom died but refused to tell anyone, thinking it was his punishment for letting her slip through his fingers like she did. Eventually, however, Pidge got tired of waking up every night to the sound of Lance’s hoarse screaming and Allura got tired of seeing him walk around the castle in a numb, sleepless haze, so with a little brute force on their part and a little creative alchemy on Kolivan’s part, Lance’s nightmares had become a thing of the past.

 

He’d felt guilty, at first, that he was now without the nightly reminders of what had happened, of what he could have done to stop it. But he figured he had enough reminders while he was awake that he could do without the ones keeping him up at night, too.

 

Lance had almost forgotten how vivid his nightmares could get when he was really, truly afraid. People had always told him he was creative, and his unconscious mind seemed to agree always dreaming up the most horrifyingly detailed situations to put him in. Sometimes he had trouble convincing himself that none of it was real.

 

Since he hadn’t been plagued by them in such a long, time the new wave of nightmares that had started a few weeks ago had caught him completely by surprise. Pidge had woken him up from his first one, her hair a mess and her eyes wide, asking if she needed to go get something from Kolivan. He had managed to convince her that it was just a one-time thing—had hoped that it was—and had sent her back to bed with only two concerned glances cast back his way.  

 

It was becoming more and more obvious that it wasn’t just a one-time thing, that it was something similar to what he’d had before. He must not’ve been screaming in his sleep anymore, though, because Pidge hadn’t said anything about it and he was positive she would if she knew. It made sense to him, that he wasn’t making any noise, because in the dreams he was always paralyzed with fear, unable to move or speak and think while the world whipped around him, faster than he could comprehend.

 

The only reason that Lance hadn’t gotten an updated serum from Kolivan was that the particular subject matter of his nightmares was important, and he thought that maybe they could give him the answer to the question he’d been searching for.

 

However, he’d been so far unsuccessful, and tonight, after he woke up gasping for breath and sobbing with a big wet spot on his pillow, Lance decided that his search was futile and pulled himself out of bed. He slid his feet into his slippers and pulled his door open, waving his hand at Nyma and Rolo where they guarded either side of his chamber doors and shuffled his way down the hall.

 

It was late, most of the unused hallways unlit as Lance passed by them. The castle had never seemed particularly spooky at night, more along the lines of lonely, empty, but Lance knew that Hunk tried to avoid walking around at night when he could help it, since he was scared a lot of things that Lance didn’t mind. It was almost like they had some unspoken agreement to never be afraid of the same things.

 

The worst part of Lance’s trip to the basement by far was the fact that he had to descend several flights of stairs while his mind was riddled with the vestiges of sleep and his limbs were shaking in a way that he couldn’t contribute to the temperature of the halls. He was also wearing slippers, which were a death trap by themselves.

 

The walls seemed to creep closer to Lance as he trudged downward toward the medic bay, his pace slow and clumsy, his mind unable to focus on any one subject for more than five seconds before it jumped back to what had prompted him to make this journey—his nightmares.

He almost didn’t feel like he should be afraid. It was like his brain was just trying to pre _pare_ him for something, rather than trying to scare him. It was like his fear was muted and important in a way that it hadn’t been in the past, like he was trying to send a message to himself that he couldn’t communicate any other way.

 

All he knew was this: he hated having dreams about his father hating him for liking boys.

The nightmares he’d suffered after the death of his mother were something he deserved, a side effect of the guilt he carried and fucked up way to try and work through it. They made sense to him; he knew why he had them. No child his age should ever see what he saw, prince or not. In a lot of ways, the experience ruined him, and the nightmares ensured that he stayed that way.

 

But this, these new nightmares, they were uncalled for. Lance hadn’t done anything to earn his father’s possible hatred, hadn’t made any mistakes or committed any crimes or ruined any lives. He hadn’t even done anything, it was all hypothetical.

 

And yet, it haunted his sleep and played on repeat behind his eyelids when he was awake just the same.

 

When Lance reached the doorframe of the medic bay the room beyond was empty and dark, much like he should’ve expected. His shoulders deflated a little as he realized how stupid he was to think someone would be in here so late. They didn’t _sleep_ here.

 

Lance sighed and shuffled into the room anyway, poking around at the upturned vials and puddles of unidentifiable liquid and piles upon piles of instruments and ingredients and bits of dirt. It looked like the room of like-minded people, like the room of people who had found their place and knew who they were and where they belonged. Lance wished he had a room like that, wished he had a space that represented him more than any other. He couldn’t decorate his spot above the shelves, couldn’t make it his. There wasn’t room, wasn’t it way to do it without drawing attention to it and introducing it to others.

 

And his bedroom wasn’t his, didn’t incorporate a single aspect that represented Lance except for the pile of clothes in the corner that he hadn’t bothered to put up yet. His bedroom was just another piece of the castle, another piece of an interior design plan, another piece of the vision the belonged to whichever artist his ancient relatives had hired to make their home look as rich as they were. Most the time it didn’t bother him—he wasn’t in his room all that often anyway—but when he had something to compare it to… it was harder to ignore.

 

Lance didn’t want to be a prince if he couldn’t be Lance, too.

 

He put down the vial that he picked up without realizing and moved deeper into the room, shifting over to the smaller side table that seemed to serve as Keith’s workspace.

 

The surface of the desk was cluttered around the edges but cleared in the middle where a large pot sat, a wooden stirring spoon sticking out of the top and resting on the lip. Lance stood on his tiptoes and looked at the contents of the bowl, wondering if Keith needed a stool to work with this since he was shorter than Lance.

 

The bottom of the pot looked like it was covered in dark purple sludge, which was also smoking a little, now that Lance was looking at it more closely. It smelled like sulfur and sage and reminded Lance of the serum Kolivan had given him for his nasty cough many years ago. He wondered if the sludge was still coating his throat even now, wondered if he’d be able to see it if he looked hard enough.

 

This serum, however, whatever it was, gave Lance the shivers. He didn’t know if it was the color—a little darker than royal purple and a bit thicker, too—or if it was the smell—mostly sage with an undertone of foul sulfur and a hint of lilac, now that he stopped to consider it—or if it was the consistency—viscous enough that it would take a nice, slow journey to the surface of the table if Lance were to tip the pot right now—but he wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to know what the serum was for, who had made it, or why.

 

That being said, he kind of wanted to touch it. Not with his fingers, he’d learned that lesson once already, but with the stirring stick that was so conveniently sitting in the pot already. He knew it wasn’t his room, wasn’t his serum, but it wouldn’t hurt to just play with it a little, right?

 

Lance raised his hand and extended his fingers toward the stick, moving slowly as if he expected someone to reach out and stop him, even though there was obviously no one else here.

 

“Don’t touch that,” a voice said from his right, making him jump and snatch his hand back. He turned to find Keith in the doorway, glaring at him sleepily and looking adorable with his mussed hair and his baggy clothes.

 

“I wasn’t going to,” Lance said, holding his hands up in defense.

 

“Uuuuhhh huh,” Keith responded, stepping fully into the room and stopping a few feet from where Lance stood.

 

“What are you doing in here, anyway?” Lance asked to change the subject, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the table behind him. Keith mirrored his stance, narrowing his eyes at him.

 

“I came to get my hair tie,” Keith answered, reaching back and snatching a short strip of leather from the surface of the table, letting it dangle in the air. “I can’t sleep with my hair in my face.” Lance hummed, nodding his head lightly as his gaze shifted to the ground. Perhaps he had chosen a bad subject change; this was the part where Keith asked him why _he_ was there.

 

“What about you?” he asked, right on schedule. Lance sighed, bringing his hand up to scratch at the back of his neck. Keith wouldn’t care, right? Everyone had nightmares, it was nothing to be ashamed of. All he had to do was just… tell Keith what he needed. Easier said than done. It felt as crazy and terrifying as admitting that he really wanted to see Keith with his hair up, which was ridiculous, because those two things were not even close to being on the same tier.

 

“I—uh,” Lance coughed, bringing his unoccupied hand up to form a fist in front of his mouth before dropping both of them and scuffing his slippered foot against the ground. “I need a serum for, uh, you know, nightmares and stuff.”

 

Keith looked at him for a few seconds before he let out a little cough of his own and stood up straight, moving towards the far side of the room as he spoke. “What are they about?”

 

Lance stared at Keith’s back as he walked, shifting nervously. He’d really hoped that Keith wouldn’t ask. Keith turned back to look at him once he had reached his destination and, likely seeing the look on Lance’s face, was quick to correct himself.

 

“I just mean—there are three different types of serums that target specific types of nightmares to help fight them off more efficiently, so I just need to know if they’re past, future, or irrational. Past meaning the nightmares revolve around an issue that took place in the past, future meaning the same thing but for future or possible events, and irrational meaning the nightmares are about something born of fantasy and untruth but still, you know, scary. Like being chased by an angry hoard of cattle or something.” Keith explained, gesturing to the wall of stockpiled vials. Lance moved closer, subconsciously curling in on himself as he did. All the vials looked the same to him, but he distracted himself by trying to pick out which one was the one he needed.

 

“Future,” he answered, watching as Keith plucked a slender, dark green vial from its place against the wall and offered it to Lance.

 

“Here,” he said as Lance unfurled one of his arms and accepted it into his palm. “This should last you for a couple weeks, although you most likely won’t need all of it. All you need to do is add a drop of it to some sort of drink pretty soon before you go to bed. I would recommend taking it for a few days and then skipping a dose to check on the progress, but if that doesn’t sound like something you want to do, you definitely don’t have to.”

 

“Thanks,” Lance said, bringing his arm back to his body. Keith hummed in response and began gathering his hair into a low ponytail, securing it with the leather strip still pinched between his fingers. Lance no longer felt like he needed to return to bed quite so badly.

 

Keith grinned softly at him when he was done, brushing his loose bangs out of his face. “I hope that helps. Don’t be afraid to come get me if you need anything else, even if it’s late. I am your medicine man, after all. It’s kind of my job.”

 

Lance scoffed lightly, looking down at his feet. “I appreciate the offer, but I probably won’t. I don’t like to bother people.” Keith shrugged and Lance looked back up at him, reeling from the sight of his messily pinned back hair and the warm look on his face.

 

“It wouldn’t bother me.”

 

Lance smiled, his eyes darting away from Keith’s face again. Something about the darkness, the atmosphere, made him shy. “Thanks.

 

“Anytime,” Keith said, making his way back across the room towards the door. “Goodnight, Lance. Sweet dreams.” And then he was gone.

 

Lance stood on the other side of the room and flushed, letting his muscles relax as he replayed the conversation over and over in his head. “Goodnight, Keith,” he said quietly, even though he was already long gone.

 

It wasn’t until Lance had made it halfway back to his bed that he realized he didn’t know where Keith’s room was.

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn’t often that Keith couldn’t sleep. In the six, almost seven months he’d been here, his days had been filled with a lot of time on his feet and a lot of information for his brain to process, so usually by the time he made it to bed he was asleep standing up and ready for unconsciousness to consume him.

 

Tonight, however, sleep had never felt farther away.

 

Back at the monastery, Keith would venture out to the courtyard and sit on the bench next to the giant oak tree, listening to the wind rustle the leaves and looking at the stars shining in the reflection on the smooth surface of the pond. But here, Keith had no idea where the courtyard was, which meant it wasn’t an option unless he wanted to go searching. According to Kolivan, there were only four people who knew where the courtyard was, three of which were Lance, Pidge, and Hunk. Keith thought was a little ridiculous that an entire castle full of people had apparently lost the courtyard, but he didn’t care enough to question it. A lot of things about this castle didn’t make sense.

 

The only other person bestowed with the knowledge of the courtyard’s whereabouts was the royal gardener, and he knew how important it was to Lance and his friends and therefore refused to give up the information, even when presented with bribes or asked by the king, so Keith was told. Apparently the gardener maintained it solely for Lance and his friends, because if no one else ever saw it Keith didn’t see much of a point in keeping it looking nice, but it had never been neglected in the gardener’s routine.

 

It was a little late to hunt down any of the four who might let him in on their little secret and he didn’t really want to put up with the questioning that would surely follow, and he also didn’t feel like wandering the castle trying to pay close enough attention to look for the entrance himself, so Keith resigned himself to walking around aimlessly instead, until his eyelids began to droop and continuing to move became a struggle. He figured it was as good a plan as any, considering this was his first sleepless night in this new place and he hadn’t figured out his new strategies yet.

 

The hallways of the castle seemed to loom much larger above his head when they were quiet and dark, and Keith found himself drawing his arms closer to his chest as he walked down the middle of the hall. Only the main halls were lit with torches at night, and Keith’s room was about as far off the beaten path as it got, so he accepted that most of his journey would be dark and lonely as he lost himself in his thoughts.

 

Said thoughts were mostly about Lance. They’d been seeing a lot of each other lately, and Keith didn’t know why, but—admitting to himself that he had a crush on Lance felt like falling for a trick somehow. Maybe it was because it had been a recurring topic between the two them since the day they met, or maybe it was because Keith had never liked anyone before and he’d heard plenty of bad things about the whole process, or maybe it was because he felt like everyone had high expectations for him and for his relationship with Lance and he felt like he couldn't live up to them. Whatever the reason, he still hadn’t let himself think the words _I have a crush on Lance,_ even if he knew them to be true.  

 

It was getting harder and harder to ignore  them, though, especially when all he had to do these days was look to his side and see Lance’s smiling face following him down the hallway as the four of them wandered around the castle and found stuff to mess with; or look up from his work and see Lance pouting and hand-communicating with Kolivan from the doorway while Hunk and Pidge peeked over his shoulder; or wait for Pidge and Hunk to invite him to target practice so he could watch Lance’s lithe body navigate the arena floor.

 

It was getting really, really hard to run from the fact that he liked Lance, because he really, really liked Lance, and he didn’t want to run from that.

 

Still, it was terrifying to think about. Permanent or long-term situations had never really been Keith’s area of expertise, and it had already been challenging enough to accept his new role there in the castle. He didn’t know what he’d do if he found himself in a relationship. It didn’t sound unappealing so much as just… unfamiliar. New territory. New territory that he wanted to jump into more and more every time he so much as caught a glimpse of Lance’s smile.

 

It was bad.

 

His walk through the castle helped a little, though, because there was nothing to distract him or stress him out. It was just him and the torches on the walls.

 

Until he heard what sounded like a small child, humming softly as they ran through the halls, the pitter patter of their small feet echoing in the empty corridors. Keith slowed his gait, stopping before he entered the next intersecting pathway and peeking his head around the corner to look. He then took an instinctive step backward—back into the shadows where the torchlight didn’t reach—when the child ran past him a second later, blissfully unaware of Keith’s presence.

 

Keith had never been one for children, but… it wasn’t safe to allow one to wander the castle alone at night, was it? He blew out a long breath and slid out of the shadows, following the child at a safe distance. He didn’t want to look like he was stalking it, either.  

 

“I want cake! I want cake! I wanna eat a big fat cake!” the child sang as it went along, hopping over the smooth floor in the direction of what Keith assumed was the kitchen. Now that the halls were brighter Keith could see that it was a small girl, no older than five, but he still had no idea who she was or who she belonged to or where she was supposed to be right now. Her hair went down to her shoulder blades and curled softly, and when he caught glimpses of her face she kind of looked like the tailor, but he couldn’t be sure.

 

As Keith mentally prepared himself to step in and intervene if he needed to, the child turned a corner and squealed with what Keith desperately hoped was delight. Out of instinct Keith plastered himself to the wall before he rounded the corner as well, the sound of skipping coming to a stop and being replaced with more rapid footsteps that sounded like running as the girl chanted, “Lance! Lance! Lance!”

 

So that answered the question of who she had found and why she was so excited about it, but Keith still didn’t want to reveal himself and have to endure interaction with Lance this late at night, so he stayed hidden and poked his head around the corner in time to see Lance bend over and scoop the girl into his arms, shifting her to rest on his hip as he grinned at her and booped her nose.

Goddamn adorable.

 

“Hello, Sophia,” Lance greeted. “How are you this fine evening?

 

“Hungry,” Sophia answered, shy and mischievous at the same time. She reached her hands up to pet Lance’s hair, which was sticking up all over the place and glinting in the firelight. She giggled, sticking her tongue out at him as she yanked on a strand. He stuck his tongue out back at her, turning to walk down the hall in the direction she’d been heading before their collision. Keith followed cautiously, careful to stick to the shadows and never stray too close.

 

“And what might you be hungry for, dear Sophia?” Lance asked as she rested her head on Lance’s shoulder, her right hand gripping the back of his shirt sleeve as he carried her.

 

“Mommy said I could ask Miss Shay to make me a cake, ‘cause I’ve been a good girl all week long. I even helped her with the hemming, but I wasn’t very good at it.”

 

“I bet you were amazing,” Lance said, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. “Now, let’s see what we can do about that cake.”

 

Keith was kind of amazed, watching Lance interact with Sophia. He’d had limited experiences with children younger than ten and had never taken a particular liking to them, but watching Lance sweep her up and talk to her just like he would Hunk or Pidge or Keith himself—although his words were obviously meant for a younger audience—made it look easy. Keith realistically knew that it probably wasn’t, that Lance just had some sort of gift that made him amazing with kids, but something about the dark, empty halls of the castle, the warm, alluring lilt of Lance’s voice and the gentle bubble of Sophia’s laugh made Keith want to be up there with them, participating, being a part of it all. He’d never wanted that before.

 

By the time they’d reached the kitchen, Sophia looked like she was mostly asleep, her body relaxed in Lance’s arms as he ran his free hand through her hair and hummed under his breath. Lance crossed the threshold into the kitchen and Keith stayed just outside the door, sitting down on the ground as quietly as he could.

 

“Hey, Shay,” Lance said softly, smiling at her. She smiled back, lifting a floured hand in a wave as she paused her rolling out of the sheet of dough on the table in front of her.

 

“What’s up, Lance?” she asked, eyeing Sophia with mirth in her eyes as if this wasn’t the first time she’d come bearing the request for a cake.

 

“I want cake!” Sophia cheered, now much more alert as Lance set her down on the ground and she zoomed around the perimeter of the room.

 

“The little one demands a cake,” Lance repeated, leaning against the counter. Shay shook her head and smiled,  even though she looked exhausted underneath all the flour dusted across her face. Keith knew that Shay had one of the most demanding schedules in the castle, seeing as she woke up with the sun every morning to prepare breakfast and stayed up far past sunset every night to prepare for the next day, _and_ did it all by herself when Hunk wasn’t available to help. “But,” Lance continued, holding up a finger as Shay began to gather ingredients. “I will be making it. You’re exhausted, Shay. You should get some rest. I can take it from here.”

 

Shay looked torn, her eyes watching Sophia as she pretended to ride a pony in a circle around the sink. “Are you sure? It really would be any trouble—”

 

“I’m positive,” Lance said, pushing her by the shoulders to the exit on the other side of the room. “I’ve got it. Go, you deserve more than five hours of sleep.” Shay smiled gratefully at him and relented, pausing at the doorway.

 

“Thank you, Lance,” she said.

 

“Don’t mention it,” Lance grinned, waving her off. Once she was gone, Lance grabbed Sophia as she ran past and set her on the huge table in the center of the room, looking her in the eyes.

 

“Okay, Miss Sophia,” he said, adopting an overdramatic serious face. “What are the requirements for this cake?”

 

“It has to be both vanilla _and_ chocolate, and it has to have blue frosting the same color as my eyes,” Sophia listed off, just as serious as Lance.

 

“Right, of course,” Lance said, pushing off from the counter and turning around to grab ingredients. “Did you know that cake was one of the first things I learned how to make?”  

 

Sophia giggled into her hand. “I didn’t know you knew how to make _anything_.” Lance turned around and pouted at her, several containers already gathered in his arms. Keith was torn between hoping he dropped them and hoping he didn’t.

 

“That’s rude, Sophia,” Lance reprimanded playfully, setting the ingredients on the surface next to him before turning back around to get more. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you manners?”

 

“No,” Sophia answered, still giggling. Lance rolled his eyes and dumped the rest of the ingredients into the pile, looking at them thoughtfully.

 

“Okay,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get started.”

 

Keith had only eaten a cake once in his life, but the monks back at the monastery used to make one every year for King Alfor’s birthday and set it out for the birds. It wasn’t in their nature to indulge in things such as cakes, but they did favor tradition, and they liked gathering in the kitchen and working together to build a tribute to the man who kept them safe and warm.  

 

Regardless, Keith knew that making a cake was not supposed to be a two-hour ordeal, not even counting the time the cake had to bake. But somehow, Lance and Sophia managed to get distracted in every possible way and had already spilled half of the batter onto the ground. Keith wasn’t sure how successful their cake was going to be, but at least it smelt good.

 

Keith sat on the floor in the hall and leaned against the door frame and watched them, for two and a half hours, while they danced and sang and chased each other around the small space and royally fucked up the both vanilla _and_ chocolate cake with blue frosting the color of Sophia’s eyes.

 

Lance had made the frosting a while ago and it had taken several tries to get it the right shade, but he actually managed to get it pretty close, and somehow managed to let Sophia eat almost a quarter of it before he caught her and told her to save the rest.

 

Sophia swiped her finger through some batter on the table as Lance poured what was left of the vanilla batter into the pan. He then took the chocolate and poured it very carefully into the middle before he took his finger and began to swirl them, leaving cool patterns behind. Keith was almost positive that most people didn’t use their finger for that part, but he supposed that as long as it got the job done, he couldn’t complain too much.

 

“Lance?” Sophia asked, breaking the momentary silence and leaning on her hands as Lance slid the cake into the oven, her voice uncharacteristically serious.

 

“Yes, Soph?”

 

“Are you gonna fire my mommy?”

 

“Nope,” Lance answered immediately, shaking his head.

 

“She worries about that sometimes. She says it’s ‘cause she’s old.”

 

Lance shook his head again, coming over to stand in front of her and cup her face with his hands. “Well then tell your mommy she has nothing to worry about. She’ll be my tailor until the day she dies.”

 

Sophia nodded, the brightness coming back to her eyes as she did. “Okay, I will. Also, I have another question.”

 

“Shoot,” Lance said, leaning against the small counter behind him.

 

“When are you gonna get married? I thought you had to be married to be king.”

 

Lance threw his head back and laughed, shrugging when he was done. “I won’t get married for a few more years, probably,” Lance told her, grinning at her fondly. “And I probably won’t be king, either. That’s Allura’s job.”

 

Sophia frowned. “But Allura is a girl.”

 

Lance shrugged again, still grinning. “Allura can be a king if she wants to.”

 

“Can I be a king?”

 

“Of course. You can be anything you want to be.”

 

“I want to be married. Mommy said it’s the best thing that ever happened to her, other than having me, of course.”

 

“Trust me,” Lance laughed. “You don’t want to be married yet.”

 

“Who are you gonna marry?”

 

“I don’t know,” Lance shrugged once more. “Someone amazing, probably.”

 

“How do you decide who to marry?”

 

“Most people marry someone they’re in love with, someone they want to spend the rest of their life with,” Lance answered.

 

“How do you decide who to fall in love with?” _Was every child this full of questions?_ Keith thought, shuddering. _Jesus Christ._

 

“You don’t decide, it just kind of happens. You fall in love with people that you like a lot, but it’s a special kind of liking that you only feel for certain people.”

 

“Have you ever been in love?” Sophia asked, swinging her legs. Keith tore his eyes away from the rhythm of her feet and looked to Lance’s face, beaming at the fact that he could see a slight blush on his face.

 

“Not yet,” Lance said, shrugging his shoulders yet again, a soft, involuntary smile on his face. “But I might be soon.”

 

Sophia frowned for a second before she sighed. “That sounds boring.”

 

Lance laughed, the skin around his eyes crinkling nicely. “Falling in love is anything _but_ boring, Soph.” Keith couldn’t help but agree.

 

After fifteen more minutes of talk about topics including but not limited to: why humans have to eat food, what would happen if you never went to the bathroom, why horses have to be taller than humans, and why coffee tastes like dirt, the cake was ready.

 

“Cake! Cake! Cake!” Sophia chanted excitedly as Lance wrapped a towel around his hand and fished the cake from the stone oven, setting it on the counter next to her.

 

“We have to wait for it to cool down so we can put the icing on,” Lance said, tossing the towel somewhere behind him.

 

“How long is that gonna take?” Sophia whined, rolling her head on her shoulders. Lance waved his hands over the cake a few times, frowning at it. He pressed a single fingertip to its smooth marbled surface, frowning harder.

 

“A few minutes,” he decided, dusting off his hands as he pulled back. Sophia groaned and Lance booped her nose with his cake finger, giving her a look.

 

“Patience, young one. Can you go get the icing for me?” Sophia nodded and crawled across the counter to grab the bowl of icing that’d been set out of her reach, sliding it back across the table towards Lance. He turned around and grabbed a knife from the wall of utensils behind him and stuck it in the bowl before he swiped his finger through it and deposited a lump of bright blue icing on Sophia’s nose.

 

“Hey!” she laughed, trying to lick it off with her tongue, going cross-eyed with her efforts. Lance re-dipped his finger and smeared more streaks across her face, making her look like a blue cat.   


“What’d you draw?” Sophia asked, trying to look, frowning when she couldn’t.

 

“I turned you into a cat,” Lance said, looking incredibly proud of himself for his art. It didn’t look half bad, Keith had to admit. Sophia dipped her own finger and swiped it across Lance’s smooth cheeks, mimicking the art on her own face.

 

“Now we’re both cats,” she said with a grin. Lance laughed, grabbing the knife from the bowl and sliding the cake closer.

 

Lance put his fingertip back on the cake and evidently decided that it had cooled enough, seeing as he began to slather the icing over the top of it without noticing it was still in the pan. Lance covered most of the top of the cake before he seemed to realize that he would need to take it out of the pan if he wanted to ice the rest. He cursed under his breath and scraped the icing still on the knife off into the bowl, using it to run around the edges of the cake and separate it from the pan. He then grimaced before spreading his fingers and positioning his hand under the cake as he dumped it out of the pan. The blue icing squished around the shape of his fingers as Lance shook his head slightly and turned to Sophia.

 

“Hey, Soph, can you go get something to put this on?” Sophia nodded enthusiastically and used Lance’s body to climb down from the counter where she was perched, scampering around the kitchen in the pursuit of a plate or something big enough. Eventually, she let out an honestly adorable noise of triumph and raced back to Lance’s side, where he was still awkwardly holding the partially iced cake with one hand.

 

“Will this work?” she asked, presenting what looked to be an actual cake platter.

 

“That’s perfect,” Lance answered, reaching across his body to lean down and take it from her. He then very carefully flipped the cake onto it, frowning at the icing left on his hand and the giant imprint left on the cake’s surface. Sophia took it upon herself to scale Lance’s body as he took the knife and used it to scrape as much icing off his hand and back onto the cake as he could.

From the looks of it, the icing had stained his hand, and Keith couldn’t wait until they realized that their faces would be stained, too.

 

After his minor setback, Lance iced the rest of the cake quickly and presented it to Sophia with a flourish, a big, dumb smile on his face. “Miss Sophia, your cake.”

 

It looked kind of shitty, to be honest, because the icing was choppy and uneven and looked more like the waves of the ocean than an iced cake, but Sophia was delighted regardless, clapping her hands together as Lance hunted down two plates and forks and cut them both a slice.

 

“Does your mom know you’re still up, eating cake?” Lance finally had the mind to ask, raising his eyebrow as he closed his mouth around a bite of cake and slid it into his mouth, the icing leaving behind streaks on the fork and Lance’s lips.

 

“Kind of,” Sophia answered, shrugging her tiny shoulders as she dug into her own cake, taking much bigger bites than Lance.

 

“Okay,” Lance said, giving her a shrug of his own. Keith rolled his eyes. Of course Lance would keep a small child up late and bake her a cake without question. Keith was kind of curious about the “kind of”, though. “How’d ya like it?” Lance wiggled his eyebrows to add emphasis to his question, grinning around the cake in his mouth.

 

“Shay makes them better. I like the way the inside looks, though.”

 

Lance gasped in offense, his hand flying to his chest and almost stabbing himself with the fork clenched in his fist (he wasn’t eating with it like that, though, thank god). “And to think, I made a cake out of the kindness of my heart, just to be insulted by the very person I made it for.”

 

Sophia giggled, her plate wobbling dangerously in her small hands. “Maybe Shay can give you lessons.”

 

“That’s it. I’m never making you a cake again. In fact, when I see you in the halls now, I’m not even gonna say hello. I’m just gonna keep walking. Maybe _Shay_ can say hi to you instead,” Lance said fake angrily, punctuating his words by shoving a huge bite in his mouth (the rest of the cake he had left, which was almost half) and crossing his arms over his chest grumpily, glaring at her with his cheeks puffed out while he chewed.

 

Sophia just giggled, hiding her smile behind her hand. “Okay.” Lance shook his head and made hand motions at her, obviously telling her to wrap it up. Keith wondered if she knew his secret hand language, too.

 

“Huwwy up,” Lance said through the cake still in his mouth. “Iss gehing lawte.” Sophia looked at him and nodded with dramatic seriousness, shoving the rest of her cake (considerably less than Lance) into her mouth to match him. She then set her plate to the side as she and Lance stared at each other, their cheeks full of food and their faces smeared with cracking blue icing.

 

Lance slowly reached up and pushed his pointer fingers into Sophia’s cheeks until her mouth was straining to stay closed and she was probably at risk of choking on cake from how hard she was laughing. Sophia copied his actions and squeezed his cheeks until they had both cleared their mouths of cake and Lance helped her down from the counter, setting her lightly on the ground.

 

“You have to go straight to bed, okay?” Lance said, cutting another slice and sliding it off onto Sophia’s plate. “And you have to bring a piece to your mom, without eating it before it gets to her. Got it?” Sophia nodded and smiled at him, craning her head up to look at his face.

 

“Got it. Goodnight, Lance. Thanks for the cake.” And then she turned and ran off, zooming past Keith without a glance in his direction. Keith took that as his cue to stand and move back, hiding in a crevice where he could still observe Lance but he wouldn’t be caught if Lance were to walk by. Lance stared at the ground for a couple moments before he raised his head and went about taking care of the mess they’d made, putting the ingredients back in their rightful place and swiping the crumbs off the table and into his hand before dumping them in the trash container at the far end of the room.

He took care of the cake last, swiping the icing from his face and popping it in his mouth as he draped a towel over it and set it on the counter behind him. Keith knew he said he was gonna stop using magic around Lance, but… Lance didn’t know he was there, and it couldn’t hurt, right?

While his back was turned, Keith reached into his mind and conjured a picture, imagining the words to go along.

 

_Et resurrexit propter pulcherrimum puerum in mundo._

 

A single rose appeared in the air and dropped onto the table where the cake had just been, making Lance jump when he turned around and saw it.

 

“Where…?” he asked softly, his eyebrows furrowing as he reached out and poked it with a finger. After affirming that it was real, Lance picked it up and sniffed it hesitantly. His brow relaxed as he inhaled the scent, and the soft smile on his face as he pulled the flower away made Keith’s heart flutter in his chest. Lance cradled the flower gently in his hand as he did one last sweep of the kitchen and then turned around to leave, carrying his gift with him all the way back to his room.


	6. you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance really, really, really wanted to take Keith on a date.
> 
>  
> 
> He was, however, faced with a few problems, the first of which being the fact that Kolivan had sunk his ancient teeth into Keith’s soul and refused to unhinge his jaw and release him, even after Lance’s several attempts at pestering him into giving in.

Lance really, really,  _ really  _ wanted to take Keith on a date.

 

He was, however, faced with a few problems, the first of which being the fact that Kolivan had sunk his ancient teeth into Keith’s soul and refused to unhinge his jaw and release him, even after Lance’s several attempts at pestering him into giving in.

 

Kolivan wanted Keith to focus on his studies, which was ridiculous, because it wasn’t like he was running out of time or anything. Kolivan wasn’t going to be dying anytime soon; he had plenty of time to learn. But still, he refused to excuse Keith for the day, or even just for a few hours, on the basis that he needed to be without distractions. Lance didn’t want to get him in trouble by trying to sneak him out or something, so he had let it go for the time being while he faced his other problems.

 

Issue number two was easily the most glaring issue, which was the fact that he had absolutely no idea what they would do on this date, or where it would even take place. The castle was a truly boring place, the most exciting places being the basement—where Keith already spent ninety percent of his day—or the courtyard, which Lance would be filleted alive if he showed to Keith without permission from Hunk, Pidge, and the royal gardener, Steven. They’d never agree without a reason, and he didn’t want to have to explain to all of them why he needed it when it wasn’t that exciting of a location anyway. If he was gonna take Keith on a date, it was gonna be something top tier, something worthy of Keith’s time.  

 

The second issue lead around to the third, which was how he was going to pull this off. If there were no good date locations within the castle, the logical next step would be considering somewhere out _ side  _ the castle. This was, of course, pretty much not possible. Lance rarely got permission to leave, especially without his guards coming along, which would totally ruin the whole thing. He didn’t have an excuse for why he needed to go out, and he also didn’t have a reason for why he’d need to go by himself or with just him and Keith.

 

If he couldn’t leave the castle with just the two of them, and there were no good date locations inside, and he couldn’t even get Kolivan to relinquish his tight grip on Keith for as long as it was necessary for the date to take place, it was looking more and more likely that they’d have to have a date in the medic bay while Keith worked—in the company of Kolivan—which was absolutely unacceptable.

 

Lance eventually decided he was just gonna do it. He’d find a way to convince Kolivan, he’d find a way to get off the castle grounds, and he’d figure out what to do during their date. How? When? Lance had no idea. Perhaps that was important to figure out before he put it all into action, but it didn’t matter. He’d find a way. Lance would just have to figure out how to get around all of three of his issues and take Keith on the romantic date of his dreams. Without him knowing it was a date, of course, because Lance wasn’t sure if Keith liked him back.

 

Easy as pie.

 

“Coran?’ Lance asked, using the subtly sweet voice he used whenever he wanted something but didn’t want the person he was talking to to realize that he wanted something.

 

“Yes, my boy?” Coran responded, not looking up from where he was dusting the bronze bust of himself that he kept in the hallway outside his chambers as what Lance assumed was a kind of reminder that the room was his. Or maybe it was just a reminder of what he looked like, in case anyone ever forgot? Lance wasn’t actually sure why he had it, but he’d learned very early in his childhood that when it came to Coran, he just shouldn’t ask.

 

“You’ve lived around this castle for a while. What’s the best way to, uh,  _ persuade  _ Kolivan to do something?” Coran looked up at him then, his brow quirked.

 

“Why do you ask?” he responded slowly, his eyes scrutinizing Lance’s every move.

 

“I need to, you know, persuade him to do something. No big deal.” Coran didn’t look convinced.

 

“You’re Kolivan’s favorite person in this entire castle. If he hasn’t already said yes to you, maybe it’s something you shouldn’t be doing.”

 

Lance sighed, letting his shoulders slump. Now wasn’t the time for Coran’s famous fatherly wisdom, which he extended to every weary soul in need. It wasn’t like he was doing anything  _ bad,  _ he just wanted to take an extremely cute boy on a date. It shouldn’t be this hard.

 

“You know what, Coran? You’re right. I’ll just bribe him. There has to be something he wants.” Coran made a squeak of surprise as his eyes widened. Not very princely, bribery.

 

“That’s not what I meant, Lance.” Lance shrugged and gave him a bright smile as he walked backward out of the hall.

 

“I know. Have a good time dusting!” And then he turned and ran, his footsteps accompanied by the sound of Coran’s indignant yelling, since he was too lazy to actually follow Lance and change his mind. He knew Lance was super stubborn when he wanted to be, and he wasn’t about to waste his breath.

 

After he received such foolproof advice from Coran, he figured he should go see if he could actually bribe Kolivan before he talked to the last person on his hastily-compiled list. As Lance made his way to the basement (as fast as his feet could carry him; he was excited and nervous and anxious to have the conversation already) he mulled over ideas for bribery, thinking about all the things he knew that Kolivan liked.

 

The list was pretty short, consisting mostly of herb gardens, breakfast food, and Lance himself. Kolivan already had his own herb garden, he could ask Shay to make him breakfast food whenever he wanted, and he obviously wasn’t feeling the whole “Lance himself” thing, so he had  _ no  _ idea what he was gonna do. However, Lance was nothing if not good at completely winging it, much to the chagrin of his father, so that’s what he would do. Com-plete-ly  _ wing it _ .

 

Neither Kolivan or Keith looked up when Lance stuck his head around the corner, both of them fairly wrapped up in their work. Lance surveyed the room for a second before he held onto the door frame with one hand, elevating a leg in the air for balance as he leaned into the doorway and lifted the other hand to cup around his mouth.

 

_ “Psst!”  _ Lance hissed loudly, staring straight at Kolivan. Keith jumped as Kolivan sighed bodily and looked up at him, his facial features utterly unimpressed. Lance was undeterred. He balanced on one foot as he let go of the door frame and used his arms to communicate with Kolivan as Keith watched on, his eyebrows crinkled in confusion—which was totally adorable, by the way.

 

_ Please please please let me steal Keith for the day. It won’t even be the whole day, you’ve already had him for most of the morning.  _ Lance signed quickly, giving Kolivan his best pleading look. So maybe this wasn’t bribery so much as begging, but Lance was satisfied with whatever would work.

 

_ No.  _ Kolivan signed decisively in return, his movements sharp.

 

_ Please. I’ll give you anything. What’s something you want? I’ll literally do anything. _

 

Kolivan sighed again and flicked his eyes up to look at the ceiling as he thought, crossing one arm over his chest and cradling his chin with the other. Lance waited a few agonizing seconds before Kolivan hummed and looked back to him, signing his answer.

 

_ I like breakfast food.  _ Lance waited for more, but it didn’t come.

 

_ I know that.  _ he returned slowly.

 

_ I also like to enjoy my breakfast food while in bed.  _ Kolivan continued, a small smirk on his face now.

 

_ Okay…  _ Lance was mildly worried about where this was going.

 

_ If you make and bring me breakfast in bed for the next month, I’ll let you take Keith for the rest of the day. Hell, maybe you can even take him for a little bit tomorrow, too.  _ Lance scrunched his brow, mulling it over. It didn’t sound too bad; he knew how to cook, didn’t hate doing it. Slight problem, though.

 

_ You get up at the ass-crack of dawn every day. I’ll die if I get up that early. _

 

_ Then how about this: I don’t have to get up and go to work until you bring me breakfast, whatever time that may be.  _ Kolivan was smirking at him like he’d won or something, but this was actually ideal for Lance. He didn’t mind cooking for Kolivan and he didn’t have to get up early to do it,  _ and  _ he got to have Keith for the rest of the day and  _ maybe even some of tomorrow, too _ . Lance was elated.

 

_ Deal.  _ he signed back, unable to keep the grin off his face. As if he cared what time Kolivan started working.

 

“And that’s every day for a  _ month _ , Your Highness,” Kolivan said sternly, even though Lance could see a little smile peeking through underneath.  

 

“Yeah, yeah, Kolivan, I got it,” Lance said, rolling his eyes playfully. He then pointed a finger at Keith and raised his brows. “Meet me at the kitchen in fifteen minutes.”

 

Lance didn’t give Keith time to answer before he was off again, hoofing it back up the stairs to the second floor.

 

Next on his list of visitors was Shiro. He figured that if he was gonna sneak off the castle grounds without explicit permission from his father and the accompaniment of his guards, then he was gonna need the knights that surveyed the grounds to be absent long enough for him to slip by unnoticed. Easier said than done, of course, as everything seemed to be.

 

He was going to have to make more concessions for this one, because Shiro loved nothing more than asking a ton of unnecessary questions before he gave you what you wanted. Lance was almost positive it was some side effect of his time spent in the heat of battle and not because he was an evil,  _ evil  _ person, but the details didn’t matter. Lance was willing to tell him whatever he wanted to know. It was an integral part of his success; he had to.

 

He walked to the map room as fast as he could without running, the generals already in the room leaving as soon as he peeked his head in. The Prince’s business was always more important than theirs, especially in times of peace.

 

“Good morning, Lance. What can I help you with today?” Shiro already had an evil glint in his eye as he stared at Lance. Shiro was a well-seasoned veteran, which made him a dirty snake when it came to business agreements such as this one. Lance was still young, almost fifteen, and unfamiliar with the way of bending people to his will, so he didn’t usually ask Shiro for things unless he really wanted them. Like now.

 

“You know that one time I supplied you with a kickass battle plan completely on accident and you jokingly told me that you owed me one? I’m calling in that favor—a favor worth millions of lives, may I add,” Lance said, trying not to deflate already. Bargaining with Shiro made him tired.

 

“Go on,” Shiro replied, the glint extending to his smile. Lance shuddered.

 

“I need you to call all the guards that patrol the castle grounds and the castle itself in for a, I don’t know, thirty minute emergency meeting while I, you know, sneak off the castle grounds with a horse or two for purely recreational purposes because I am a reckless teen who likes to rebel against authority.”

 

Shiro’s smile was sharp enough to slit Lance’s throat and his eyes followed his every move like a hawk that hadn’t eaten in four and a half days. “Is that  _ really  _ why?” Shiro asked, obviously knowing that it wasn’t. Lance tried his very hardest not to blush, but it was impossible.

 

“If I say yes will you stop asking questions?”

 

“I’m not gonna agree until you tell me the real reason.”

 

Lance sighed, resisting the urge to slide to the ground. He knew he would eventually have to tell the truth, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try a million lies first. “I’m going to have sex with a woman.”

 

“Not buying it. Try again.”

 

Lance sighed again. That was his best material. “I’m going to buy a birthday present for Allura.”

 

“Her birthday isn’t for seven more months.”

 

“I’m going to buy a birthday present for my father.”

 

“His birthday already passed.”

 

“I’m going to buy a birthday present for Pidge.”

 

“Pidge refuses to celebrate her birthday and locked you in a closet the last time you tried to give her a gift. And her birthday is three months away.” Damn, this guy was good.

 

“She’s had a change of heart. And I’m just trying to be prepared. You never know what could happen.”

 

“Still no.”

 

Lance let out one last sigh, letting his entire body slump. “Fine. It’s because I have a big fat gay crush on Keith and I want to take him on a date in the city because the castle is boring and not nearly romantic enough for someone as amazing as he is.” Lance said quickly, hoping Shiro wouldn’t hear him. He did.

 

A pleased smile spread across his lips lazily, like he was a damn cat stretching out in the sun. Lance hated him sometimes. Shiro said nothing in response, simply stood up straight and walked to the window behind him, opening it without breaking eye contact with Lance.

 

“Iverson!” he yelled to the guard stationed right outside the window. “Tell the entire palace guard that I need to see them immediately for an emergency meeting.”

 

Lance squeaked as his body jolted, understanding what was happening quickly. He needed to  _ leave _ .

“Thanks, Shiro!” Lance yelled as he sprinted out of the room and back into the halls.

 

It was on his way to the kitchen that he realized Keith was wearing a robe, which wasn’t conducive to riding a horse, so he skidded as he turned around and booked it back to his room, grabbing the first shirt and pants combo he came across, waving his hand at his guards as he ran past them and back out of the room.

 

If he was going to get off the grounds in time, they had to hurry. He still had to saddle up the horses, which would take more time than he wanted since he hadn’t practiced in so long, and the stables were a good ten minutes away on foot if they weren’t running. However, Lance was pretty sure they were gonna be running.

 

When Lance made it to the kitchen, Keith was dutifully waiting for him, looking awkward and confused as Lance came running at him with a bundle of clothes in one hand. Lance came to a stop in front of him, thankful for his crossbow training as he tried to catch his breath and found it wasn’t as hard as he expected.

 

“We’re going somewhere,” Lance said as an explanation for what was going on, his eyes flitting over Keith’s face to watch his reaction.

 

“Okay,” Keith replied, a tiny smile on his lips.

 

“Let’s go,” Lance answered, grabbing Keith’s hand with his empty one and pulling him out of the service door next to the kitchen. Once outside, he dragged them in the opposite direction of the arena, simultaneously glad and panicked that Shiro’s guards had all managed to make it inside in the time it took him to grab clothes and grab Keith and get outside.

 

Keith, bless him, asked exactly zero questions about where they were going or why they were running or why Lance was carrying nothing but clothes, simply letting Lance drag him by the hand across the expanse of the luscious castle grounds. Lance hadn’t been to the stables since he was seven years old, but Coran had once given him a brief rundown on how to put a saddle on a horse and make it like you, so he figured it would be fine. They just had to be fast.

 

They reached the stable in only six minutes instead of ten, slowed only by the fact that Keith was wearing a robe and couldn’t reach full running capacity. When they stopped inside, Lance scanned the stalls for his favorite horse (that is, his favorite from when he was seven) and stopped in front of her, holding his hand in front of her nose.

 

“Hey, Blue,” he murmured, patting her head as she snorted. Lance had been the one to name her, and her name had come from the fact that her eyes were brown and her hair was brown and her hide was brown with white little freckle-ish spots, but those white little freckle-ish spots had the faintest tinge of blue to them if you looked really close. It had also been his favorite color at the time (and still was).

 

“Are we going to be… riding that?” Keith asked hesitantly from somewhere behind him.

 

“Yes. Put these on.” Lance replied, throwing the bundle of clothes at Keith’s chest. He ignored Keith’s squeak of protest as he slung Blue’s saddle and saddle blanket over his shoulder and stepped into her stall. Keith was done changing by the time Lance had Blue ready to go, slinging his pale robe over the stall door as Lance lead her out into the aisle.

 

“I don’t know how to ride a horse,” Keith said, his feet audibly shuffling even though Lace hadn’t looked up at him yet.

 

“That’s great. One less horse to saddle up,” Lance responded, running his hand over Blue’s soft light brown hide and patting her flank.

 

“Are we in a hurry or something?”

 

“Yes,” Lance answered, spinning around and grabbing Keith by the hips before lifting him up and setting him on Blue’s saddle as swiftly as he could manage. Thank you, crossbow practice. Keith was staring at him with wide eyes when Lance finally looked up at him, and Lance let his eyes roam over the sight of Keith wearing his clothes and felt his cheeks flush, making direct eye contact for a few moments before he remembered their time limit.

 

“Right. In a hurry.” Lance looked away and clapped his hands, pulling himself up behind Keith and grabbing the reins. “Come on, Blue, let’s go!”

 

It’s possible that Lance shouldn’t have started off at almost full speed when he hadn’t ridden in seven years and Keith hadn’t ridden  _ ever, _ but after Keith’s initial yelp of panic and Lance’s instinctive clenching of his thighs so he didn’t fall off and tightening of his arms so Keith didn’t fall off, they were fine. Totally fine.

 

“I hate you,” Keith breathed, his voice weak.

 

“It’s fine. We got this,” Lance assured, unable to help his grin as he tucked his arms around Keith’s warm frame in front of him and urged Blue to go faster.

 

Lance tried to look around as they rode, since he hardly ever got out, but the green grass and the fluffy shrubs and the towering trees all blurred together and flew by quickly as they raced towards the front gate that had conveniently been left open. He’d thank Shiro for that later. The grounds seemed much bigger than they ever had, and it wasn’t until they’d blasted through the gate and stopped several feet down the cobblestone street to look back that Lance realized how far back on the property the castle stood, most of its features indiscernible from this distance. It’d been too long since he’d left.

 

“Where are we going?” Keith asked as Lance slipped Blue into an easy walk down the street, the need for speed gone by now.

 

“It’s a surprise,” Lance answered to hide the fact that he actually had no idea. He could already see that things had changed dramatically in his absence, and he momentarily cursed his impulsiveness, bringing Keith out into the city streets that he barely knew anymore. They were definitely going to get lost.

 

Lance had always been quite fond of the way the city outside of the castle, Arus, looked. Everything from the way the streets were laid out to the way the vines grew along the cracks in the stone always managed to make Lance feel at peace. Too bad he didn’t get to come very often.

Arus was a port town, most of its profit coming from the wares it produced and traded with the other kingdoms and cities across the sea. It was most well known for its art, evident from the sides of buildings covered in painted designs and splashes of color that constantly fought for your attention and booths, marketplaces, and shops full of every kind of art imaginable—from paintings to pottery to sculptures to fine jewelry.

 

Arus was like a bird of paradise, detailed down to the bricks in the street, colorful and bright and loud in all the ways Lance wished his own home was. The only similarity between his castle and Arus was the plants, winding around every structure and blooming from the cracks in the sidewalks. Lance thought that perhaps the royal gardener had gotten his inspiration from the streets outside the castle gates, that he’d seen something awe-inspiring on the outside and had wanted to bring it in.  

 

Lance pulled Blue to a halt and slid off her saddle, hopping to the ground before leading her over to a post and tying her up. He wasn’t worried about someone stealing her if they were gone for a long time; the royal family was well respected. No one would dare mess with a horse saddled with the royal seal. Lance rifled around in Blue’s saddlebag and pulled out a small bundle of hay and a waterskin, setting them up in the trough in front of Blue so she’d have everything she needed while they roamed around. He reached back into the bag and pulled out a small sack of coins, filled with much more than they’d hopefully need during their excursion.

 

Lastly, Lance went back for Keith, who was sitting on top of Blue watching him, a distant sort of curiosity in his eyes. Lance held his arms up and Keith leaned into them, letting Lance guide and support his slide back to the ground. Keith patted Blue’s flank as he regained his footing, smoothing over it with his hand before he looked up and smiled at Lance.

 

“I’m instilling a lot of faith in you right now,” he said, his eyes bright and sparkling with mirth. “You could be leading me to my death and I would have no idea.”

 

“Pretty creative death set-up,” Lance said, shrugging. “If I was gonna kill you, I’d probably just drown you in the birdbath.”   
  


“A noble way to go,” Keith said with a solemn nod, looking into the distance with a dramatic sigh.

“Of course,” Lance said, letting Blue’s tail slip through his fingers as he stepped away from her and began to move down the street, Keith following obediently behind. “Let’s go, plant boy.”

 

“Where’re we going then, your highness?” Keith asked for the second time, a challenging lilt in his voice as he picked up the pace to walk shoulder to shoulder with him. Lance grinned down at him, continuously grateful for the few inches he had over him.

 

“Still a surprise. Just wait and see. Enjoy a beautiful, scenic journey through the most beautiful town in all of Altea, compliments of me, instead of stewing about what other magical places I might be taking you to.” Lance advised. He really needed to figure out where they were going.

 

“Sure, sure. Just take me somewhere good, yeah? That castle basement is boring as shit.”

 

Lance laughed out loud, tilting his head back as he did. “You got it, buddy.”

 

Lance had at least picked a nice day for them to be out, the breeze blowing just soft enough to ruffle Keith’s hair around his bright face and disturb Lance’s clothes where they hung loosely on his frame, looking just big enough to obviously not be his. The hem of his pants just barely dragged the ground as he walked and the bottom of his shirt fell just below his hip bones, making him look even softer than his silky hair already did.

 

Lance had unknowingly grabbed his favorite shirt (that was dirty, but Keith didn’t have to know that), which was soft and dark red and paired with Keith’s complexion magnificently, and Lance was positive that he’d never be able to wear that shirt again without blushing.

 

Keith looked so goddamn adorable in his clothes.

 

Lance reluctantly drug his eyes away from the boy next to him and looked at the surrounding streets instead, almost able to convince himself that they were a prettier sight to see. The two of them were slowly walking towards the pier, winding down crowded cobblestone streets lined with squat buildings and huts along the edges and crowds of people bustling past and paying them no mind. It had been so long, Lance doubted many of the citizens even knew what he looked like now.

 

Lance could tell that Keith was impressed—at peace, even—and it made happiness swell in his chest, knowing that he was able to get Keith out of Kolivan’s clutches and introduce him to the world outside that still managed to captivate him every time he returned. He truly couldn’t imagine his castle being surrounded by any other city, the sight of the streets something truly irreplaceable.

 

“Thoughts on Arus?” Lance asked softly, raising his eyes to scan the banners of flowers strung along the tops of the buildings on either side of the road.

 

“Beautiful,” Keith answered, his attention obviously elsewhere. Lance grinned, nudging him with his elbow.

 

“And, I forgot to ask. First time riding a horse?”

 

“I almost died, no thanks to you,” Keith answered briskly, keeping his eyes forward.

 

“You did not almost  _ die _ ,” Lance said, rolling his eyes, putting his entire upper body into it. “I totally had the situation under control.”

 

“ _You did not almost_ die,” Keith mocked, tipping his head back and forth rapidly as he did. “Listen, I almost fell into the sweet embrace of death today and nothing you say is gonna convince me otherwise.”

 

Lance barked a laugh, shaking his head with a grin. “Yup, okay. Just go back to enjoying the scenery, will you?”

 

Keith snorted, mocking Lance again under his breath.

 

“Rude!” Lance laughed, shoving him. Keith stumbled to the side with a laugh of his own, and by the time he had regained his footing, Lance had rounded the next corner and was out of sight.

 

“Wh—hey!” Keith yelled, turning to look around him in a cute little circle. Lance just chuckled and stepped up to the booth he’d stopped in front of, presenting the portly lady standing behind it with a few coins that he exchanged for his prize. Lance thanked her quickly and turned on his heel to retrace his steps, moving back to where Keith had been and hopefully still was.

 

Keith was pouting when Lance returned, standing in the middle of the street with slumped shoulders, glaring at the ground. Lance giggled as he approached, holding his consolation gift out in his open palm.

 

“I bought you a pastry,” Lance said, wafting it right under Keith’s nose. His own pastry was cradled in his other hand, held closer to his side so he didn’t accidentally drop it. Keith lifted his head a little and sniffed it once, raising his eyebrow suspiciously.

 

“What flavor?”

 

“Peeeaach, your faaaaavorite,” Lance said, reminding himself of a child.

 

“Good, you remembered. Apology accepted,” Keith relented, scooping the pastry out of his hand and immediately bringing it to his lips. Lance grinned happily at him as he took a bite of his own and moved down the street again, closer and closer to the sea.

  
  



	7. meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It looked exactly the same, not a pot or fleck of paint out of place. Even the lighting was the same, the gentle rays of sun glittering through the stained glass windows and illuminating the dust motes floating in the air. The room was just as tight, just as packed as he remembered, the walls lined with shelves upon shelves of clay pots, each one distinctly unique, some painted in vibrant swathes of color and some uniform brown, undecorated. The very reason they were here. The very reason he’d stepped into the shop for the first time all those years ago, much shorter than he was now and clinging tightly to the hand of—of his mother. It’d been her idea to step inside, that first time. She’d been feeling creative—had wanted to explore the town and get some inspiration—and while Allura and his father had shopped around at all the booths in the market, he and his mother had come here instead.

Lance had almost finished his dessert when his eyes swept over the buildings in front of him and he almost jumped out of his skin when he recognized one, unable to believe he’d forgotten it was there. If he remembered correctly, it was one of the last places he visited in the city, as well as one of his favorite places he’d ever been.

 

Lance reached up and shoved the rest of Keith’s pastry, which he seemed to be savoring, into his mouth before he yanked on his hand and pulled him across the street, towards the homely little square structure a few hundred feet in front of them. Keith yelped in surprise through the dough in his mouth, his eyebrows communicating his displeasure well enough. Lance couldn’t help it, though. He was  _ excited _ .

 

“What the hell, Lance,” Keith asked a few moments later, his voice thick as they approached the door.

 

“Shh,” Lance brought his finger to press against his lips, cutting any further inquisition off. “We’re here.” Yup, it successfully looked like he’d had a plan all along.

 

“Where is ‘here’, exactly?” Keith asked, raising a brow. Lance huffed.

 

“Where’s your sense of adventure? Stop asking so many damn  _ questions,  _ dude. Just wait and see.” With that, Lance took his hand again and lead him through the door, taking a breath of the familiar scent as a wave of nostalgia washed over him. He hadn’t been here since…

 

It looked exactly the same, not a pot or fleck of paint out of place. Even the lighting was the same, the gentle rays of sun glittering through the stained glass windows and illuminating the dust motes floating in the air. The room was just as tight, just as packed as he remembered, the walls lined with shelves upon shelves of clay pots, each one distinctly unique, some painted in vibrant swathes of color and some uniform brown, undecorated. The very reason they were here. The very reason he’d stepped into the shop for the first time all those years ago, much shorter than he was now and clinging tightly to the hand of—of his mother. It’d been her idea to step inside, that first time. She’d been feeling creative—had wanted to explore the town and get some inspiration—and while Allura and his father had shopped around at all the booths in the market, he and his mother had come here instead.

 

Lance had known as soon as he looked at his mother’s face that she loved this place, that she held it somewhere deep in her heart. Lance even suspected that maybe she’d been here before, but he couldn’t tell. He had been too young, didn’t know how to ask, didn’t realize that he might want to know the answer someday, should he ever come back and be reminded.

 

Now, it was all he could think about, being submerged in it again.

 

He was back in a place that his mother had loved—just, this time, without her. It was five times worse than what he’d gone through when he realized he’d never see her floating through the halls of the castle again, no matter how hard he wished, because those castle walls had never been home for his mother, not like they had been for his father, or for Allura, even. His mother had always wanted something more simple, something like a dusty little square building a couple thousand feet away from the sea.

 

And why was it that Lance was standing here, instead of her?

 

“Lance?’ Keith asked softly, his fingertips brushing along the skin of Lance’s forearm so gently that he almost didn’t realize they were there. Lance refocused his eyes and realized he’d been staring at a painting on the wall, warm tears brimming in the corners of his eyes, and that someone had joined them in the room, standing behind the counter with an understanding smile on her face.

 

“Sorry,” Lance said, clearing his throat and blinking his eyes a few times as he turned his head away from the wall and walked closer to the counter, smiling warmly at the lady who stood behind it. “Cara, long time, no see.”

 

“Prince Lance,” she answered, holding her arms out for a hug. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?”

 

“Seven years, to be exact,” Lance said, allowing her to fold her arms around him as he leaned over the counter and did the same. “I was worried you wouldn’t recognize me.”

 

“I’d never forget such a delicate face,” Cara answered, squeezing him tightly before releasing him, holding him at shoulder’s length so she could look at him. “Now tell me,” she said, her eyes flitting all over his features until they’d had their fill. “Who’s this you’ve brought with you?” Lance grinned, feeling the skin around his eyes crinkle.

 

“This is Keith,” Lance told her, stepping back and tugging on his arm to bring him closer. “He’s gonna replace Kolivan up at the castle whenever he decides to bite it. I brought him out ‘cause old Koli’s tryin’ to work him to death.” Cara gave him a scarily knowing look and grinned at Keith, looking just as welcoming as she had seven years ago when Lance had been meeting her for the first time.

 

“Hey,” Keith said awkwardly, weakly waving with one hand. Lance and Cara started laughing at the same time, causing a blush to crawl over his cheeks. Super cute.

 

“Hello, Keith,” Cara said when she stopped laughing, grinning at him warmly. “It’s nice to meet you. Although, I’m sure you’re not here to stand around and talk to an old lady. You’re here to paint. Go ahead and pick out your pots; you know the drill, Lance.”

 

Lance saluted as Cara turned and disappeared into the back, turning Keith around by the shoulders so he faced the shelves, the unpainted pots scattered around in front of them in no particular order.

“Paint?” Keith asked quizzically, staring at the shelves with an eyebrow raised.

 

“Yup,” Lance affirmed, bouncing on his toes as his eyes scanned the options. “You pick out a plain pot that you like and Cara hands us paints and we go outside and sit at the tables in front of the shop and paint whatever the hell we want onto the pots. It’s fun.” Keith still didn’t look convinced but had seemingly decided to humor him, his eyes flicking back and forth as he assessed the shelves in front of him.

 

“I want that one,” he said eventually, pointing to something that Lance wasn’t paying attention to. He was busy hunting for his own.

 

“Then get it,” he mumbled distractedly, frowning and cradling his chin with one hand. He heard Keith huff from beside him and saw him cross his arms over his chest in his peripheral vision, a somewhat familiar pout on his face. Lance ignored him, knowing he’d speak up on his own if he waited it out long enough. A few seconds passed before Keith huffed again, taking a tiny step closer to Lance’s side.

 

“I can’t reach it,” he said under his breath, the pout still firmly in place. Lance snorted in an attempt to hold in his laughter, an effort that did not go unnoticed by Keith. “It’s not funny,” he glared, blowing out a breath that disturbed the hair around his face.

 

“No, no, I know it’s not,” Lance said with a wide grin, unfolding his arms and stepping closer to the shelf Keith had gestured to earlier, lifting up onto his tiptoes and tilting his head back to look at Keith the best he could. “Which one is it?”

 

“The only one on the top shelf that’s unpainted, asshole,” Keith grumbled from behind him. Lance couldn’t help his laugh on that one, the action weird feeling with his neck stretched the way it was.

 

“Right, right, my bad.” Lance scooped the pot off the shelf and into his waiting palm, falling back to flat feet and holding it out for Keith to take. Keith glared as he did, although the effect was weakened by how cute he looked doing it. Lance just grinned. “Now, give me a second to find mine.”

 

As Cara returned from the back holding a basket full of supplies they could use and would need, Lance had located his pot and pushed Keith towards the door, having instructed him to pick out a table while he walked to counter to accept the supplies from her. He reached out and gripped the handle of the basket but she didn’t let go, waiting for him to look up and meet her eyes.

 

“I miss her, too,” she said softly, holding his gaze. Lance’s face fell, his shoulders slumping forward. Cara drew him into another hug, holding him tightly to her chest. She was the first one to hug him in a long, long time. “Come back and see me sometime, yeah? And don’t wait seven years this time, either.”

 

“I will,” Lance laughed, fighting back the wetness in his eyes. She loosened her grip on him again and let him take the basket, smiling as he picked it up, cradled his pot close to his chest and waved as he walked backward across the room and out the door.

 

Keith was sitting at a small, two-person table when Lance turned around to look, propping his chin up with his palms and frowning down at the clean slate of a pot in front of him, his brow furrowed. The pot that Keith had chosen was really more of a vase, almost a foot tall and slender, elegant, the base about the size of his palm and the opening at the top just a bit smaller, the sides sloping up to meet it. Lance’s was more stout and reminded him of a teapot, with a base about the size of Keith’s and wide, rounded sides, the opening shaped like the uppermost portion of a funnel.

 

Lance smiled as he set the basket on the table between them and sat down, raising a brow at the boy across from him. “Having fun?”

 

“‘Mm tryna decide what to paint,” Keith mumbled, his cheeks squished up around his lips while he spoke.

 

“And how’s that going?”

 

“Horrible.”

 

Lance chuckled, positioning his own pot in front of him before reaching into the basket and pulling things out, setting them randomly in the empty space between them. “I don’t know what I’m gonna paint, either,” he told Keith with a shrug, setting the basket on the ground once it was empty and sitting down.

 

Keith huffed, shaking his bangs out of his face. “How dare you bring me here and make me be creative with zero preparation. It takes  _ weeks  _ for me to come up with good ideas.”

 

“You don’t  _ have  _ to be creative,” Lance consoled, unable to help his small grin. “You could just paint the entire thing blue.”

 

“Why would I paint it  _ your  _ favorite color?” Keith asked with a playful scowl. Lance just batted his eyelashes, tucking his hands under his chin. Keith reached across the table and shoved at his arms, knocking them off the surface. “Shut up and let me think.”

 

“I didn’t say anything,” Lance teased but fell quiet anyway, having his own thinking to do. His mother told him that creativity was influenced best by things that you were passionate about, whether you were aware of it or not. When you were looking for an idea, though, it was often a good place to start. Lance supposed that he wasn’t passionate about very many things, most of them falling into one category that he could confidently label “other people”. The only that that really fell outside of that category was crossbow practice, but he wasn’t sure if he was passionate about it so much as just utilized it as the perfect distraction that it was.

 

So, excluding his crossbow, he was really only left with one category. This “other people” category happened to cover a wide range of areas, however, so Lance figured he probably needed to narrow it down even further.

 

He supposed that what he loved most about other people was the fact that he had them. He loved to joke with them, loved to put on a show for them, loved to figure them out and lift them up and calm them down when they were unable to do it themselves, and he knew he wouldn’t like any of it nearly as much if he didn’t have such deep connections with people—if he didn’t have people who were willing to humor him and give him a chance. He was a failed excuse for a prince; it was far more than what was expected of them, far more than what he would’ve gotten in any other neighboring kingdom. No one was required to treat him like he was anything, because from an emotionally-detached social standpoint he  _ wasn’t _ , but they did anyway.

 

So, the thing he loved the most was just, other people. He could work with that.

 

“Got an idea yet?” Lance asked playfully as he reached for a paintbrush and the containers of paint, peeling the top off of each one.

 

“Yup,” Keith answered, catching Lance by surprise as he reached for a paintbrush of his own. Lance figured he would’ve been more verbal about his artistic conclusion based on how verbal he was about the fact that he couldn’t come to one.

 

“Nice.” Lance just grinned, sizing up his pot for a few seconds before he dipped his paintbrush into the pink and started to work. He stopped paying attention to Keith sitting across from him, reining in his focus until he could see nothing but the paint clinging to the bristles his brush and the specific spot he was painting, watching the vibrant streaks of color he left behind.

 

Lance expected their painting time would be largely silent, both of them too focused to really be that productive in conversing, which was why he was surprised to hear Keith speak up, his voice soft and hesitant as he kept his eyes glued to his project in front of him.

 

“Why did you, uh, freeze up in there? When we first walked in?” His eyes flicked up so quickly that Lance almost didn’t catch them, even though he’d been staring intently at Keith’s face since he opened his mouth to speak. Lance was quiet for a moment, frowning gently at the smooth piece of pottery between his palms.

 

“The last time I was here was just a couple years before my mom died,” Lance said as casually as he could, his brow furrowed. “This was one of the places she loved the most, and it was just… strange, coming back without her.” Keith didn’t answer for a second, the end of his brush tapping idly against the opening of his vase as he seemingly thought about something.

 

“If you don’t mind me asking, what was she like?” Keith asked, glancing up and meeting Lance’s eyes this time, holding his gaze.

 

Sometimes Lance forgot that his mother had never been much of a public image, had never really been introduced to her people. His father had gotten a lot of shit for marrying the daughter of an artisan instead of another royal as was traditional, and many citizens hadn’t even  _ wanted  _ to learn more about his mother for the first few years after their joining. Eventually, the public mellowed out and accepted the marriage as it was, but she still hadn’t wanted to become the kind of queen her mother-in-law had been, the kind of queen who stood beside the king in all of his public appearances and didn’t speak, wearing her best clothes and her best face to ensure they put on the best show. If she attended events it was to participate in them rather than to oversee them, and if she left the palace walls it was to explore the streets and buy things that caught her eye, not to have the citizens crowd at her feet and kiss them.  

 

His mother had been the one who created such an easy-going atmosphere around the castle, because she absolutely loathed being addressed as the queen. She’d been the one who taught Lance that everyone was a person just like he was, not someone who was only there to do as he wished. She was also the reason that Lance was rarely permitted to leave the castle grounds; his father was afraid that a lack of proper respect on the streets would lead to an increased likelihood that Lance wouldn’t make it back alive.

 

It was easy to forget that the citizens of their empire—especially those who didn’t live in Arus or the castle district—had never really known his mother, because she could only be seen up close and many never got the chance. She wasn’t a portrait, hung up in the dusty hall of a castle to be remembered forever, she was a clay pot, knocked off the shelf too soon.

 

“Soft,” Lance finally answered, bringing his paintbrush back to the surface of his pot and starting to work again. Keith followed suit, his hair falling in front of his eyes as he tilted his head down. “Her hands were always soft, and her voice was soft, too, but it was strong. You could always hear her just fine, but it didn’t grate against your ears and make you wish you could close up the holes. She was nice to listen to. Not a lot of people got to hear her talk, because she wasn’t one for public presentations, but she would talk to me for hours. I remember I used to follow her around the castle, jumping from room to room and visiting all the people who were busy at work inside each one, making sure they were having as good a day as we were. And all the while she’d talk, whether it was just to me or to the people we’d visit, too.”

 

“Sounds like someone I know,” Keith said, a smile lighting up his face. Lance laughed gently.

 

“Yeah. We were a lot alike, my mother and I. Every morning, she’d pick me up and hold me on her hip and tell me something she’d learned about herself that day, even when I got big, ‘cause she said it’d help me find myself faster when I was older. She used to call me her mini-me, used to tuck me into bed and tell me about all the ways I reminded her of herself. And when we were bored and there was nowhere to go and no room to visit that we hadn’t already visited before and she wanted to talk, she’d take us to the library and we’d sit in the corner and she’d tell me about all the things I had to look forward to. She’d talk to me about all the things I’d have to figure out for myself one day and told me about all the mistakes she’d made, making sure I knew that I wasn’t allowed to make the same ones. She talked about pretty much everything; love and life and being an adult and the long road to becoming one. I think she always knew she was gonna die before I’d be old enough to really talk about those things, ‘cause she always spoke to me like every day could be her last. I think I was the only one between the two of us that was surprised when one of those days really was.”  

 

“That’s really fucking sad, Lance,” Keith said quietly, lifting his eyes from where they’d returned to his art long enough to search Lance’s. Lance laughed again, unable to suppress the smile threatening to take over his face.

 

“It doesn’t hurt as bad now,” he said with a shrug, suddenly uncomfortable with the attention. Lance didn’t have a ton of experience with romance, but he was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to rant about your dead mom on the first date. Especially if the other person didn’t even know it was a date.

“But it still hurts,” Keith said, more of a statement that a question.

 

“It still hurts,” Lance confirmed anyway. He washed his brush of the pink and dipped it into red next, starting the next part. He only had eight more to go. “What about your parents? What were they like?”

 

Keith shrugged casually, not looking up. “They died when I was four, my aunt took care of me until she died when I was six, I lived on the streets for two years until the monastery took me in and I eventually ended up here. The only things I can remember about my parents are their faces, and even that’s kind of a blur. I’ve never really been bothered by their deaths, ‘cause I never really knew them.”

 

“What about living on the streets? What was that like?” Lance asked. Keith shrugged as Lance cleaned off his brush again and dipped it into the orange. Keith took a moment to shake his hair out of his face and try to move it back with his wrist before he gave up, letting it stay where it was.

 

“Not as bad as it could’ve been. I grew up just a few towns over, down in Balmera where the monastery is, and everyone there is super kind-hearted. I got plenty of donations, especially since I was so young, and the weather was never an issue. Easy living, almost.”

 

Lance hummed in acknowledgment, pursing his lips a bit. He was surprised at how casually Keith talked about his past, especially since not very many good things had happened in it. Lance’s past seemed to follow him around everywhere, but it was almost as if Keith had simply dropped his.

“Enough about the past; what’re you painting over there?” Lance asked, changing the subject as swiftly as he changed his brush color to yellow.

 

Keith didn’t answer right away, and when Lance glanced up he was wrestling with his hair again, several strands of which were now stuck in his mouth. Lance reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of string that he’d found in (and taken from) Hunk’s room and had been playing with for the past few days. It was a little curly from where he’d wound it around his fingers again and again but was otherwise intact as he held it up as an offering to Keith. Keith looked up at him with wide eyes and blushed slowly, dropping his eyes to his art before flicking them back up to meet Lance’s curious gaze. He then gestured to his hands which were covered in paint, the reason he couldn’t use them in the first place. Right.

 

Lance looked down at his own hands which were relatively clean and flexed his fingers, coming to a decision before he could really think it through.

 

“Don’t worry, I got this,” Lance said, scooting his chair back and standing up before Keith could stop him. He walked around the table and stood behind Keith, pausing long enough to give him time to protest before he began to gather the strands in his fingers.

 

Firstly, Keith’s hair was soft. Unbelievably soft. So soft that Lance was convinced that he could make a blanket out of it—not that he would, because that’s creepy and weird. Secondly, it was warm—warm from where it rested against his neck and from where the sun was shining on it from the side, sending a happy shiver through Lance’s spine as it slipped over his skin. Lance stepped to the side so he could glance at Keith’s face—which was still blushing—and make sure he’d collected all the strands that were long enough to be tied back, taking special care to hook a finger around the ones still stuck between his lips and drag them out.

 

“Ew, those were wet,” Lance grimaced as he pulled them back into the ponytail he’d created near the base of Keith’s neck.

 

“Yup, they were in my mouth, just now.”

 

“Does that happen a lot?”

 

“More often than you’d think,” Keith said grimly. Lance shuddered and wrapped the thin string around Keith’s bundle of hair before he tied it and stepped back, admiring his work.

 

“There you go!” Lance exclaimed cheerily, stepping back around the table to plop into his seat.

 

“Thanks,” Keith mumbled, the blush still visible high on his cheeks. Lance was blushing a little now, too, because Keith looked super cute with his hair up and it had just kind of hit him that  _ he had put Keith’s hair in a ponytail for him  _ and that Keith had  _ let him do it.  _ Lance was living a blessed life.

 

“No problem,” he grinned, crossing his arms and leaning against the top of the table. “Now, tell me about what you’re painting.” Keith looked like he’d forgotten that Lance had already asked this once, surprised that Lance wanted to know. Of  _ course  _ he wanted to know.  

 

“Oh,” he said intelligently, his fingers curling loosely around his brush. “Uh, I’m just kind of painting Chamomile flowers around the top. They look kind of like daisies, but, you know, smaller.”

 

“Why Chamomile specifically?” Lance asked curiously.

 

“You have to have a lot of them to really do anything, but Chamomile flowers are pretty useful. Kolivan uses them a lot, actually, mostly for indigestion stuff like inflamed intestines and stomach cramps, and even stuff like helping lessen gastrointestinal problems. They’re also a pretty good sedative if you can’t get to sleep, and if you mix them with some other stuff you can use them as a remedy against poison. People also use them to clear up their skin, help them sleep better, and get rid of headaches and stuff. They’re pretty cool, and they look nice, too, so I always feel bad when I have to crush ‘em up and stuff ‘em in a jar.”

 

When Keith finished, he seemed a little surprised that he was still talking, looking almost like he was trying to stare down at his lips and see what motivated them to say so much. It made Lance grin, happy to see him talking about something he was obviously interested in. It was probably the most he’d ever heard him say at once.

 

“That’s adorable,” Lance said, a giddy feeling welling up in his chest. He hadn’t totally meant to say that out loud, but he couldn’t find it in himself to regret it as Keith blushed even harder and flipped him off.

 

“Shut up, no it’s not. What are you doing on yours?”

 

“You can’t see ‘til I’m done,” Lance said, throwing his hands in front of his pot and hiding it from Keith’s prying eyes. “It’ll make more sense then.”

 

“How long is that gonna take?” Keith whined as he spun his vase and started working on the other half. “I’m almost done with mine.”

 

“I have, like, five more parts to do,” Lance answered, the latter half of his sentence cut off by Keith’s loud groan. Lance chuckled, swiping his brush through the green to pick some up. “It won’t take that long, I promise.”

 

“It better not,” Keith grumbled. Lance kicked him under the table and redirected his attention back to his art, which was admittedly slightly crooked but overall not too bad. They worked in relative silence, Lance changing his paint color every ten or so minutes and slowly driving Keith crazy across the table.

 

“You’re using so many colors,” he mumbled, glaring at Lance’s pot with quite honestly confusing distaste.

 

“That’s the point,” Lance countered, giving him a hard look. “You don’t have to be pissy just ‘cause mine’s prettier than yours.” To be honest, Lance hadn’t really looked at Keith’s, but he figured it was a pretty safe assumption to make, based on his performance during their drawing game all those months ago.

 

“Why would I be jealous of yours? Yours is crooked,” Keith pointed out helpfully, causing Lance to huff.

 

“It’s not that crooked.”

 

“It’s preeeettttyy crooked,” Keith said. Lance glared at him.

 

“Okay, so it may be a  _ little  _ crooked, but at least it has beautiful symbolism behind it.”

 

“Which I refuse to acknowledge, since you haven't explained what you’re doing yet.”

 

“That’s ‘cause I’m not  _ done  _ yet,” Lance huffed. “Patience. I’ll get there.”  

 

“Fine,” Keith sighed loftily. “I guess I’ll add another layer to mine.”

 

The silence returned and stretched between them as they refocused their attention on their individual projects, Lance humming quietly under his breath as he did. Sure, Keith wasn’t lying when he said his was pretty crooked, but he was proud of it. It was a culmination of all of his favorite things, all his favorite people, all in one place.

 

When he was he was finally done, all ten stripes completed, Keith was staring at him, his features thoughtful and a touch confused. Lance carefully spun his pot around and showed him the other side, grinning happily. “This,” he said, waving a hand in front of it to present it, “is my pot.”

 

“What is all that stuff?” Keith asked, his eyes flicking between the art and Lance’s eyes rapidly.

 

“Allow me to explain,” Lance began, pointing to the top. “Each different colored stripe represents a person that I care about, with a little symbol of something that reminds me of them. The pink tiara is for Allura, the red flower is for you, the orange book is for Coran, the yellow loaf of bread is for Hunk, the green gear is for Pidge, the blue ocean wave is for me, the purple circlet of vines is for my mom, the white crown is for my dad, the grey vial is for Kolivan, and the black bombshell is for Shiro.”

 

Keith stared at it for a moment in silence, a look in his eyes that Lance couldn’t quite decipher. A smile slowly curled on Keith’s lips as Lance watched, and, inconceivably, he felt his cheeks turn red.

“Why flowers?” Keith asked suddenly, glancing up at Lance long enough to see that he was confused by the question. “For my symbol. Why flowers?”

 

Lance hummed in understanding and shrugged, an easy smile on his face. “I don’t know, ‘cause when you see flowers they always just kind of make your day better, and you’re kind of reminded that beautiful things still exist. Plus, you smell good like  _ all  _ the time. Which, I don’t understand, because I tried to work down there with Kolivan once and that didn’t even last very long but I know I was sweating like  _ crazy. _ But maybe that’s just because he was yelling at me ‘cause I wasn’t doing any of the things he told me to do. But that’s  _ also  _ not my fault, ‘cause he knows I like to wing things, and he shouldn’t’ve agreed to let me try and make that potion if he knew I wasn’t gonna follow a single one of his instructions. Literally not my fault. Anyway, it’s a miracle you survive all day down there with the guy, even though you’re probably way better at following directions than I am.”

 

Lance wouldn’t say he was good at a lot of things, but he could confidently say that he was good at burying risky things he said under an adequate amount of word vomit to either disguise it or hide it completely. He only felt a need to get good at this particular skill because he felt guilty just  _ not  _ saying a lot of important things that he thought, so he had to find a way to ease his conscious and lessen the blow at the same time. That way just so happened to be intense rambling. Keith’s brow furrowed for a few seconds before it smoothed again, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

 

“I think there was a compliment somewhere in there, so I’m going to say thank you?” Keith said, but it came out as more of a question than a statement. Lace beamed back at him, bracing his arms against the table so he could lean over and take a closer look at Keith’s. He immediately started laughing.

 

“What?” Keith scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Mine isn’t even crooked, what could you possibly be laughing at?”

 

“You painted it blue. You painted the rest of it blue, just like you said you wouldn’t,” Lance pointed out, still giggling a little.

 

“It just went with the color scheme, okay?” Keith said defensively, blushing again. He was doing a lot of that lately.

 

“The flowers are white, Keith. Literally any color would’ve ‘gone with the color scheme’,” Lance mocked.

 

“Shut up!” Keith tried to sound angry but he was laughing, covering his reddened face with his hands.

 

“Don’t worry about,” Lance said with a grin. “I think it’s cute.”

 

“Oh, shove it up your ass,” Keith said as Lance laughed, throwing his head back.

 

Other than painting most of it blue, a shade darker than that of the sky but lighter than that of the sea, Keith had lined decent sized Chamomile flowers around the circular opening of the vase, some larger and more prominent than others, adding depth. It actually looked a lot better than Lance’s.

 

“Why is yours so good?” Lance whined, slumping over onto the table but careful to avoid touching his pot or disturbing Keith’s. Keith grinned cockily and shrugged, his bangs falling in front of his eyes as he looked down at Lance.

 

“I dunno. Maybe it’s just my well-trained apprentice hands,” he answered, holding aforementioned hands up in front of him and wiggling his fingers as if to demonstrate just how well trained they were. Lance snorted.

 

“I’ve seen you draw, man. It’s highly improbable that you’d suck so much at one medium and be practically a master at another, especially when the things you’re working with are practically the same. I just gotta figure out your secret. I bet you used a stencil or something.”

 

Keith arched an unimpressed eyebrow. “Where the hell would I have gotten a stencil from? And, it’s been quite a few months since the whole drawing thing. My hands have received a lot of training since then.” Lance narrowed his eyes, frowning. He was technically right, but…

 

“I’m not buying it. You’re probably secretly a witch or something. That’s the only reasonable explanation for why it’s not crooked.” Keith laughed but looked a little uncomfortable all of the sudden. Lance’s frown deepened, worrying that he’d taken his joking too far. “Hey, dude. I’m just joking. It looks really good. Like, Cara good, and she’s been doing this for years.”

 

Keith looked up from where he’d been staring at his feet under the table and smiled shyly at him, looking more at peace than he had a few seconds ago. Lance narrowly held in his sigh of relief. “Thanks, Lance,” he said softly, holding his gaze just a few seconds longer than usual. Lance found himself blushing, unable to look away.

 

“No problem,” Lance answered, feeling like his eyes were open comically wide. Maybe they were. Keith finally looked away with a tiny smile on his face and Lance coughed, standing up. “I’m gonna take these inside so the can dry, then we can go get lunch.” Lance glanced at the sun, which was not in the appropriate location for it to truly be lunch time. “Er, dinner.” Although, it was still a bit early for that. “Food. We’ll go get food.”

 

Keith chuckled and nodded, carefully handing his masterpiece to Lance and watching as Lance scooped his own off the table and secured it against his chest. Good thing it was dry, because there was no way in hell he was making more than one trip.

 

Lance walked across the front patio area and pushed the door open with his hip, navigating through the shelves until he reached the counter at the same time that Cara reappeared from the back. He set the pots down on the counter and pushed them over to her side, smiling down at them proudly.

 

“Look what Keith did! It looks almost as good as the stuff you make,” he boasted.

 

Cara chuckled, picking it up to admire it. “It’s very well made,” she said with a smile, returning it to the counter. “Did you enjoy yourselves out there? You’ve been here for quite awhile.” Lance frowned. Yeah, they had been, hadn’t they?

 

“Yeah, it’s been fun,” he shrugged, although the smile on his face betrayed the nonchalant air he was going for. Cara winked before rolling her eyes, making Lance laugh.

 

“I’m glad. I’ll let these dry, then glaze them while you two go have fun. I’m sure you have an exciting night planned.”

 

“Don’t tell Keith but I actually have no idea what we’re gonna do after we get food. This whole trip was kind of… impulsive.” Cara laughed, shaking her head in amusement.

 

“Of course. Well, enjoy your time anyway. Lord knows you deserve it,” she said with a warm smile as she slid the pots off the table and turned to carry them off into the back. Lance waited a few seconds until she sounded far enough away, then very carefully pulled out a handful of coins, enough to cover the cost and then some. He knew she wouldn’t accept the money if given a choice, so all he had to do was leave it here and run away before she could try to push it back on him.

 

Lance had almost made it to the door when he heard the rustle of curtains and Cara appeared again, a scowl on her face. “You take those back right now, young man,” she said sternly, pointing to the pile of coins on the table with a single finger. Lance shook his head rapidly, still taking tiny steps backward toward the door.

 

“You’re running a business, Cara. I didn’t come here to rob you.”

 

“You’re not  _ robbing  _ me, Lance. That’s ridiculous.”

 

“I might as well be,” Lance shrugged, reaching out and putting a hand on the door. “Keep the money, Cara. It’s yours, fair and square.”

 

“You’re just like your mother, you know,” Cara muttered as Lance pushed the door open and stepped back outside, his eyes immediately finding Keith, whose back was facing him as he looked out at the street in front of them. He had his hand up to block his eyes from the afternoon sun, and Lance took a moment to appreciate the way the action pulled Lance’s shirt tight against the planes of Keith’s back, mapping each individual curve and dip that Lance spent perhaps too long running his eyes over like it was the last time he’d ever see it.

 

Then, he shook his head to clear his mind and stepped forward until he was shoulder to shoulder with Keith, perusing the street right along with him. Keith looked up when he came to a stop, a questioning look on his face. “Where are we going next?”

 

Lance shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s up to you. Go find somewhere that looks interesting and deserving of our money.”

 

Keith rolled his eyes but stepped forward into the street, not turning to see if Lance was following. Lance stood still for a moment and watched before he followed after him, not bothering to close the distance between them. He liked this vantage point, liked being able to watch the muscles ripple under Keith’s skin and his clothes shift as he walked—moving his limbs back and forth, back and forth, with a calming sort of rhythm (and, of course, he liked checking out his ass, too. He was only human).

  
  


Keith, however, didn’t seem too pleased about this arrangement, because they had only made it halfway down the street before Keith was stopping and turning around and crossing his arms over his chest and frowning, using his fingers to motion Lance forward when he simply raised an inquisitive brow at him.

 

Lance ambled forward casually and slung an arm over Keith’s shoulder once they were step-in-step again, Keith letting out a long-suffering sigh in response.

 

“This is not what I wanted when I motioned you up here,” Keith grumbled, pretending to be upset.

“If you hated it, you would’ve pushed me off by now,” Lance said confidently. Keith huffed but didn’t argue, making Lance grin. “So, why did you call me up here?”

 

“I just didn’t want you to walk so far away,” Keith muttered. “I feel like I’m gonna get lost.”  

 

“I wasn’t that far away,” Lance said, pulling Keith closer to his side. “Besides, I have about an equal chance of getting lost. Didn’t you hear me when I said I haven’t been here in seven years?” Keith frowned contemplatively, tucking himself into the curve of Lance’s body almost subconsciously, like he was lonely and touch starved.

 

“Why is that?”

 

Lance hummed, trying to find a way to word it so that it didn’t sound so… morbid. “My dad is afraid that something bad will happen to me and he won’t be there to protect me from it. I normally go out with my guards, but he doesn’t trust other people very easily, so he still keeps the town visits to a minimum.” Especially after his mom.

 

Keith hummed back. “Sounds boring.”

 

“It is. So boring,” Lance agreed.

 

“So, are you telling me that your dad doesn’t know we’re out here? Is that why we were in such a big hurry to leave?”

 

“Yup,” Lance said, popping the “p”. “I may or may not have bribed Shiro into calling the guards in for a meeting so we could sneak out.” Keith barked a laugh, the back of his head hitting Lance’s arm that was still wound tightly around his shoulders.

 

“Are you gonna get in trouble?” he asked, although he didn’t look nearly as concerned as he should have, just amused.

 

“Nah,” Lance said breezily, waving his free hand. “I’ve got a plan.”

 

He did not, in truth, have a plan. In fact, this was the first time it had occurred to him that they would have to get back into the castle at some point, and that the guards would be there this time, watching over the gate just like they always were. Shit.

 

“I’m sure you do,” Keith said, sounding about as confident in Lance as Lance was in himself, which was no say not very. It was highly reassuring.

 

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it,” Lance assured him, using his arm to force them closer and squish their cheeks together. “I’ve got it alllll under control.”

 

“Suuuure you do,” Keith repeated. Lance could feel his cheeks moving as he spoke and it was weird so he released him, letting them relax.

 

“You’re so rude,” Lance pouted, dropping his hold on Keith entirely so he could cross his arms tightly over his chest. Keith rolled his eyes, shoving him lightly.

 

“I’m just a realist. You’re not exactly known for your magnificent plans, Lance. You said it yourself, most of the things you do are the product of you just completely winging it. And they only work out in your favor half as often.”

 

“You may have a point, but what if I actually had a plan this time? Then you really are just being rude.”

 

“And do you have a plan this time?”

 

“Of course I do, Keith.” Damn, here he was, lying on the first date—not that it counted as a date, since Keith didn’t know it was supposed to be. Still, it was the principle of the matter.

 

“Okay, Lance. I’ll trust you,” Keith droned.

 

“ _ Thank  _ you,” Lance huffed. As soon as Lance finished his exhale Keith jumped to attention next to him, making him choke on his next breath.

 

“I found our next destination,” Keith exclaimed excitedly, pointing to a booth a little ways up the street that apparently sold one thing and one thing only: turkey legs. The big kind. Lance squinted to make out the lettering on the sign, turning his narrowed gaze onto Keith once he read what it said.

 

“Big fucking turkey legs?” Lance asked, not opposed so much as surprised. He was, of course, paraphrasing. The sign did not actually say “big fucking turkey legs”. It read something like “Cheap, high-quality turkey legs, sold here”, which Lance thought was quite boring.   __

 

“Big fucking turkey legs,” Keith confirmed, a huge grin on his face. Christ, Lance liked him so much.

 

“Sure. Why not?” As soon as Lance gave his consent Keith was tugging on his arm, leading him up the street and right up to the booth, where he then immediately let go and pushed Lance forward because he “didn’t like talking to strangers”. Lance rolled his eyes and stepped up to order, doing so and paying quickly (he may or may not have walked up the the vendor and said, “Two big fucking turkey legs, please,” to which the vendor may or may not have stared at him for a moment, said, “You’re the prince, right?” and promptly barked out a laugh when Lance nodded before turning away and saying, “Yes, sir. Two big fucking turkey legs, coming right up”).

 


	8. likes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance fell into step beside him as they started down the same street they’d been on before, walking at a slow, easy pace while they ate and looked around at the life surrounding them. Lance couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the art of the movement, by the atmosphere created by bursts of color on dull backgrounds and lively voices calling out to one another and the rhythmic clop of horse hooves on cobblestone streets with the rush of ocean waves just beyond. Arus was truly alive in a way that the castle never seemed to be able to manage, and it amazed and saddened him at the same time. What would it be like to live here, to fully immerse himself in a way of life that was much more simplistic and beautiful than he’d ever imagined possible?

Once they had their turkey legs in hand, Lance used his to gesture at the streets around them with a raised eyebrow. “You wanna walk around while we eat?”

 

“Yes,” Keith said immediately, his eyes weirdly intense. “I love this place.” Lance laughed, nudging him in the direction of the pier.

 

“Get walking, then.”

 

Lance fell into step beside him as they started down the same street they’d been on before, walking at a slow, easy pace while they ate and looked around at the life surrounding them. Lance couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the art of the movement, by the atmosphere created by bursts of color on dull backgrounds and lively voices calling out to one another and the rhythmic clop of horse hooves on cobblestone streets with the rush of ocean waves just beyond. Arus was truly alive in a way that the castle never seemed to be able to manage, and it amazed and saddened him at the same time. What would it be like to  _ live  _ here, to fully immerse himself in a way of life that was much more simplistic and beautiful than he’d ever imagined possible?

 

People always seemed to lust over the opulent, the luxurious, the threads of silver and gold, gilded thrones, and days filled with riches and power, but Lance lusted over  _ this  _ —noise and color and life. He wanted nothing more than a life that he lived for himself, where no one knew what he was supposed to do and what he had failed to be. And more likely than not, he’d never get it.

 

“This is much prettier than the castle basement,” Keith sighed after a while, his eyes flickering around the scenery as if they were unable to decide where to look first and for how long. Lance studied his face, finding comfort in the same sort of whimsical giddiness present on Keith’s features that he could feel in his chest.

 

“Yeah, Kolivan needs to do some decorating,” Lance replied.

 

“Wha’d’you hink he’d hutt up?” Keith asked through a mouthful of turkey meat, turning his head to look at Lance questioningly. Lance stared back at him in disgust, raising his own leg to his mouth.

 

“You’re fuhking dissguhsting,” Lance shot back with his eyes narrowed, his own mouth full in mockery of Keith. He took care to dramatize the chewing and swallowing of his mouthful before he continued, ignoring Keith’s amused smirk. “I don’t know, he’d probably make me gather up a bunch of plants and flowers from the courtyard and then press ‘em and hang ‘em on the walls somehow. He might ask Pidge’s brother Matt to paint him something, too. He’s pretty artistic like that.”

 

Keith scrunched his eyebrows. “I forgot Pidge had a brother.”

 

“Yeah, we don’t see him a lot. He’s one of my father’s guards, so he works pretty much all the time.”

“I haven’t seen much of your father, either.”

 

“Yeah, he’s… I don’t really know what he does all day. Probably something important. Useless princes don’t get to see a lot of the empire’s inner workings, unfortunately.”

 

Keith frowned, taking a small bite and chewing contemplatively. “That’s bullshit,” he said when he had swallowed. Lance shrugged.

 

“It makes sense when you think about it. There’s no reason for me to know, and if they teach me and then I get upset one day because I’ll never get to put the information into practice, I could go and blab to our enemies out of spite and put the empire in danger.”

 

“Yeah but he’s your  _ dad.  _ Shouldn’t he at least try to include you in some non-essential stuff?”

 

Lance shrugged again. He’d never really thought about it that way. “I’m sure he’s busy,” he said weakly. Keith snorted and shook his head, ripping another mouthful of turkey meat off the bone. Lance took a bite of his own, staring off into space as they wound through the streets, growing closer and closer to the ocean waves with every step.

 

“Are we going anywhere in particular?” Keith asked, an unfamiliar edge to his voice.  

 

“Just, that way,” Lance answered, gesturing vaguely with his non-turkey occupied hand. “The ocean direction.” If Lance remembered correctly, there was a little beach a few hundred feet away from the far west edge of the pier, and Lance was in the mood to drench himself in seawater unnecessarily.

 

“We’re not going to get  _ in  _ the ocean, are we?” Keith asked cautiously, looking at him with a brow raised. Lance shrugged with an easy smile.

 

“Not if you don't want to.”

 

Keith didn’t seem convinced, still looking at him suspiciously. “Fine, but if I drown, I’m dragging your ass down with me,” he concluded, sniffing. Lance snorted incredulously, crossing his arms over his chest the best he could with a mostly eaten turkey leg gripped in one fist.

 

“I’d like to see you try, plant boy. I happen to be an  _ excellent  _ swimmer.” And he was, if only because his bath was large enough to swim small laps in. Lance liked the water, and he’d spent a lot of time in it when he was young and bored and when swimming had still been enough to ease the antsy squirming feeling in his chest. Now, that was what crossbow practice was for.

 

“I’m sure I’d find a way. That or you’d just be able to save me so we both survive, which is the favorable outcome,” Keith replied. The ocean was now in view and it calmed something erratic in Lance’s heartbeat, reminding him of simpler times.

 

“Aww, you want  _ both  _ of us to liiive,” Lance cooed, his cheeks full of unchewed turkey. He wasn’t technically talking with his mouthful so it didn’t count. He was still a charming gentleman.

 

“Yup,” Keith said briskly. “We’ve been friends for, how long? Almost eight months by now? I don’t know why that’s so surprising.”

 

“Being my friend and wanting me around are two totally different things,” Lance explained casually, bumping his shoulder with Keith’s.

 

“Well, don’t you worry, then,” Keith drawled, bumping back. “I want you around, too.”

 

Despite Keith’s less than enthusiastic delivery, his words made Lance smile, his cheeks aching a little bit from how hard he was doing so. Most people didn’t pick up on Lance’s somewhat unconscious bid for reassurance and didn’t think to say anything when Lance’s mouth joked about his insecurities without his brain’s consent, and just hearing Keith give the response he’d always wanted to hear—whether it was intentional or not—was oddly comforting.

 

Keith took one look at the grin on Lance’s face and rolled his eyes, pantomiming smacking him in the face with his turkey leg. “Quit it, you sappy bastard, before I throw you into the ocean.”

“I already told you I’m a good swimmer, so fuckin’ try me.”

 

It was nearly dusk now and the pier was officially right in front of them, the smell of salty ocean waves stronger than ever. The boards creaked slightly as they stepped on them but felt sturdy under their weight, and Lance took a deep breath as he looked out over the water and the ships and the nearing sunset, drinking it in.

 

After a few moments of appreciative staring, Lance tugged on Keith’s sleeve and lead him to the beach he remembered from one of his previous visits, toeing his shoes off almost as soon as they reached the sand. Keith followed suit and they walked, shoes in one hand and turkey in the other, closer to the water’s edge. Once they’d gotten close enough, Lance plopped his shoes in the sand and chucked his turkey leg as far as he could into the ocean, watching it tumble through the air before disappearing beneath the waves.

 

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Keith said, staring at him.

 

“What else was I supposed to do with it?” Lance questioned, squinting back at him. Keith just sighed before throwing his in the same direction, although not as far as Lance had gotten his. Lance washed his greasy hand off in the waves and dried it on his pant leg, savoring the wind rushing across his skin and blowing Keith’s hair. Keith copied him once again and squatted down to rinse his hands in the waves, at which point Lance stepped forward and shoved him, just hard enough to make him wobble.

 

“Lance!” Keith yelled, reaching out to stabilize himself.

 

“What?” Lance grinned casually, resting his hands on his hips. Keith glared as he stood and turned toward him, only taking a single step forward before Lance was in front of him again and shoving hard enough to make him fall this time. Keith tipped backward with a yelp and fell on his ass in the waves as Lance doubled over and cackled, tears springing to his eyes.

 

“I fucking hate you,” Keith growled as he pushed himself to his feet, most of his pants now wet. Lance just kept laughing, gasping for breath. Keith was still glaring with his arms crossed grumpily over his chest when Lance collected himself and wiped at his eyes, sighing heavily.

 

“It’s no big deal, they’re my clothes.”

 

“But I still have to wear them back!”

 

“Oh, yeah. Whoops.”

 

Keith scowled and stalked forward, grabbing Lance by the shirt and dragging him into the waves, almost choking him in the process. Lance just laughed the whole time, tackling Keith to the ground at the precipice of the water so that their heads stayed dry but their legs were assaulted again and again by the gentle lap of the ocean. Lance rolled off him almost as quickly as he’d brought him down, smooshing the shape of his body into the wet sand beside where Keith lay as his laughter trailed off and he tried to catch his breath.

 

“You know when I said I liked having you around earlier?” Keith asked. “I take it back. I revoke my statement completely.” Lance just scooted closer and slung his arm over Keith’s torso, burying his face into his chest.

 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just shut up and enjoy the waves, will you?”

 

Keith hummed in assent and the silence stretched between them, Keith’s chest rising and falling beneath Lance like the water rushing over his legs, almost to the same rhythm. Keith was warm where the water was cold, and Keith smelled like wood smoke where the water smelled like salt, and Keith was solid beneath him where the water was not, shifting the sand under his body so that he shifted a little farther down with the retreat of each wave.

 

Lance loved the water and he was fond of Keith, and he’d never been more at peace than when he had both of them at once, so contradictory but so in sync. Lance was almost positive that Keith was doing it on purpose—breathing in every time the water would seep between their skin and the sand and breathing out every time it pulled away, just to come right back. It was like one giant rocking motion, a giant lullaby, but Lance didn’t want to fall asleep and miss what was happening. He wanted to let his eyes rove over the purpling horizon as the sun set and feel Keith’s warmth under his palm, soft and smooth and ever-present so long as they stayed there, just like that.

 

One by one the street lamps on the pier and the surrounding streets were lit, casting soft candlelight onto the sand of their beach, illuminating it just enough to where Lance could still distinguish the curve of Keith’s form from the darkening ocean beyond, and could still see his fingers rise and fall with each of Keith’s breaths.

 

The longer they lay there the colder it got, with the absence of the sun and the relentless lick of the chilled waves on their legs, and once Keith’s warmth had devolved into tiny shivers beneath him, Lance decided it was time to go back.  

 

He helped Keith to his feet and told him to stay where he was before disappearing a little farther down the beach, behind a hill of sand and grass and brush. He poked around in the grass for a few seconds before he uncovered a small grove of somewhat pathetic beach flowers, white and tiny but with tall, thin stems. He gathered up a handful and pulled their roots from the sand, clenching them in his fist and shaking them a little to clean them off. Keith would need something to display in his beautiful vase, and that was definitely the only reason Lance was giving them to him.

 

He then carefully set the flowers on the sand next to him and fell to his knees, scooping handfuls of the grainy substance into his damp pockets. He’d need something to put in his pot, too, and sand was fun to play with. He wanted to have some at home, in case he never made it back.

 

He scooped up the flowers again and made his way back to where Keith was standing, facing the dimly lit city streets a little ways in front of them. Keith didn’t look at him when he approached so he held the flowers out and cleared his throat lightly, studying Keith closely. His head whipped in Lance’s direction, his eyes skimming over his face quickly before flitting down and landing on the flowers in his hand, widening slightly.

 

“For your vase,” Lance explained, a dumb grin on his face in response to the gentle blush on Keith’s cheeks, almost invisible in the near darkness. He reached out and took the flowers from him, staring down at them for a long moment.

 

“Thanks,” he said eventually, softer than Lance had ever heard him sound. When he looked back up at Lance something in his eyes was different, but Lance couldn’t tell what it was. “What’d you get for yours?” Lance’s grin widened and he opened his pockets for Keith to peek inside. “Sand?”

 

“Yup,” he confirmed, smiling proudly. He liked sand. “I’m gonna fill my pot with sand.”

 

“One of these days I’m gonna stop being surprised,” Keith grumbled, reaching out and grabbing Lance’s hand before tugging on his arm, beginning their long-ish walk back to where they’d left Blue. They navigated back to Cara’s shop fairly easily and picked up their pottery, thanking her once more before returning to the street.

 

Arus was a different creature at night, with a similar sense of life but a greater sense of freedom, a stronger tug in your gut that just made you want to run and laugh and sing at the top of your lungs. Lance fought the bubble of excitement in his chest as they kept walking, passing all the closed up booths and carts, the streets calm but far from empty.

 

Lance wanted to stay a bit longer, didn’t want to give up his time with Keith or his time in the city. He was clutching his pot so tight he worried he might break it, and his mind kept wandering, thinking about what it would be like if he never had to leave. What if he and Keith had a house here, a life here, something that was theirs and theirs only? What if they could crawl through the city streets every night, discovering people and places and moments that were reserved for them? What would it be like if Lance wasn’t a pointless prince and Keith wasn’t his medicine man, and they could go and do whatever they wanted wherever they wanted, together?

 

Because even if Lance wasn’t allowed to live in the castle forever Keith still had a job there, one that Lance couldn’t and  _ wouldn’t  _ draw him away from. It was obvious how much Keith enjoyed what he did, and he’d have a place there for as long as he lived. Lance, however, had no idea what his future held.

 

They reached Blue a lot faster than Lance wanted. Keith handed his vase to Lance and then stood there awkwardly, looking like he was trying to make a decision about something. “Want to try getting up on your own this time?” Lance teased. Keith stared at Blue for another moment before he looked to Lance and shook his head.

 

“Nope. You can do it.”

 

Lance set their pottery on the ground next to the wooden pole Blue was tied to and grabbed Keith around the waist, lifting him up and setting him on Blue’s saddle. He was a lot lighter than he looked, and Lance briefly wondered if he was getting enough to eat with Kolivan’s busy schedule. Keith swung his left foot over and sat on the saddle properly before Lance handed the pots up to him, untying Blue and gathering her reins in his hand before he lifted himself up and seated himself behind Keith, sitting closer than was probably strictly necessary. Keith was regaining some of his warmth, not shivering near as bad now that they were out of the water and had walked around a little bit.

 

The ride back to the castle gates was mostly silent, the two of them busy taking in the last vestiges of the city streets before they returned to the royal property that was dull and lifeless compared to where they were now. Lance realized about halfway there that he still hadn’t come up with a plan as to how they were going to get back in, and had no idea what they were going to tell the guards to avoid getting in trouble. Surely they wouldn’t mind, right…?

 

The lamps around the gate were considerably brighter than those scattered throughout the rest of the city, and they illuminated the confused gate guards quite nicely. Lance brought Blue to a halt a few feet away, staring down at them with a guilty smile.

 

Lance had a staring contest of sorts with one of the guards as Keith tensed in his arms. The guards looked more bamboozled than anything, and Lance hoped his face showed the appropriate amount of sheepishness so their punishment would be weak, if not non-existent.

 

He was pretty sure that the guard he was staring at was named Sven, and that he was in some way related to or possibly in a relationship with his father’s other guard, Slav. Lance was pretty sure the only thing Matt ever talk about anymore was all the things he learned while he was guarding with Slav, and Lance had heard many an informational nugget about Slav and Sven, although most of them didn’t make sense because Slav was kind of crazy.

 

An awkward amount of time passed without anyone saying anything, and Lance was so uncomfortable that he decided to speak up, even though he didn’t have a single idea of what he was going to say.

 

The best he could come up with was, “Don’t tell my dad.”

 

Keith burst out laughing immediately.   
  


* * *

 

They’d been in Lance’s room ever since they got back.

 

It hadn’t really been something they’d agreed on verbally, Keith had just kind of followed him back and Lance had let him. He’d gotten very knowing looks from Rolo and Nyma, which he’d ignored, and they’d spent their time changing into warmer clothes (Keith was wearing Lance’s clothes again, but this time he was wearing Lance’s underwear, too), trying to figure out how to start a fire in his fireplace without calling Pidge for help (it was a very meager fire at first but they eventually got the hang of it, creating a fire that Pidge would be proud of), and pulling books from Lance’s bookshelves and finding passages to read aloud to each other, ranging for serious and somber to funny and ridiculous (they had at some point decided to see who could put on the best show while reading a passage, and after Lance’s turn where he acted out a letter describing how a young woman had discovered that slugs are, in fact, edible, Nyma had stuck her head inside the door to make sure neither of them were dying, they were laughing so hard).

 

Now, after a spontaneous trip to the royal kitchens to steal whatever they could find and shove it into their clothes under blankets so no one would see them bring it back to Lance’s room and the eating of said food, Lance was laying in the nest of blankets and pillows they’d created on Lance’s bed, tired and sated and half-asleep. He could feel the heat radiating off of where Keith lay beside him, and his nose was full of the gentle smell of smoke, which had concerned him at first before he remembered it was just how Keith smelled. He’d always assumed it was the smell of the torches in the castle halls, since the smell was exactly the same, but being this close for what had to be the fourth time that night made in undeniable; it was just Keith.

 

Lance was seconds away from being pulled under when he felt Keith shift beside him, his presence looming over him as he assumedly propped himself up on his elbow. Lance didn’t bother to open his eyes, still toeing the line between asleep and awake.

 

“Hey, it’s getting pretty late,” Keith whispered, gently brushing Lance’s hair away from his forehead. “I should probably go.” Lance hummed very gently in the back of his throat, his hands fluttering where they rested on his stomach. He’d been about to reach out, to grip Keith and bring him back to his side again, but he stopped himself. He wasn’t allowed to do that.

 

Keith laughed softly at something that Lance probably wasn’t aware of and shifted again, his heat growing closer to Lance’s skin. He didn’t know what Keith was doing but he was too tired to care, his mind begging him to slip into unconsciousness and forget that Keith was even there at all.

 

He was close, so close, to finally being asleep when lips, very soft, very warm, pressed against his, lingering for just a second before they were gone again, Keith’s heat leaving his skin completely. He hummed again, just barely loud to be heard, and fell asleep all at once, a happy smile stretched across his lips.


	9. you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith didn’t sleep for very many hours after he left Lance’s room. On top of the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d kissed Lance, he still had to wake up early to get back to work with Kolivan, so after what felt like barely five minutes of rest he pulled himself out of bed, realizing only then that he was still wearing Lance’s clothes.

Keith didn’t sleep for very many hours after he left Lance’s room. On top of the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d  _ kissed Lance,  _ he still had to wake up early to get back to work with Kolivan, so after what felt like barely five minutes of rest he pulled himself out of bed, realizing only then that he was still wearing Lance’s clothes.

 

He felt his face heat up as he changed back into his robe that someone had apparently brought in from the stables, trying not to think about any of it too much lest it distract him even more. After running to the kitchens to grab a quick breakfast from Shay, Keith made his way to the basement, frowning in confusion when there was no Kolivan and only a note in his place.

 

_ Keith- _

_ The prince and I came to an agreement that states I don’t have to begin my work until he brings me breakfast in bed, every day for an entire month. You are free to do whatever you wish each morning until the prince holds up his end of the deal. Feel free to remind him what he’s promised, just in case he forgot. _

_ -Kolivan _

 

So  _ that’s  _ what they were talking about when Lance came in yesterday, waving his hands around like a maniac. Something warmed in Keith’s chest when he thought about Lance promising to bring Kolivan breakfast in bed every morning for a month just so they could spend the day together. It made him want to kiss him again.

 

Keith folded the note and slipped it into the folds of his robe as he left the medic bay, walking back up the stairs slowly. Lance was most likely still asleep but Pidge and Hunk would be awake, and Keith was sure they’d like to know about certain events that took place yesterday, so he decided to hunt them down.

 

Hunk was always the easiest to find because he was always in the kitchen this time of day, helping Shay prepare for the day before Allura woke up, so Keith tried to track down Pidge first. He finally found her a while later, wedged halfway between the wall and a giant metal statue, seemingly straightening a painting. To be fair, it did appear to be the only way to reach the painting if one wished to straighten it, but Keith failed to see why it was so important.

 

“I noticed it was crooked,” Pidge explained once she caught sight of Keith, clinging to the metal tightly as she slowly climbed back down to the ground.

 

“I see,” Keith hummed. He wasn’t about to tell her that she had overcorrected and that it was tilted the other way now. “What time does Lance usually get up?”

 

Pidge delayed her response until her feet were back on the floor, at which point she stared at him quizzically, her head tilted to the side and her eyebrow raised. “Not for a few more hours. Why?”

 

Keith shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest loosely. “I just wanted to be there when he remembers that I kissed him last night,” he said casually. Pidge’s body froze, a somewhat bewildered but mostly overjoyed look slowly taking over he features.

 

“You did  _ what!?”  _ she screeched, lunging for him and shaking him by the shoulders. Keith laughed, his head wobbling back and forth from the force of her shakes.

 

“It was just a little peck.”

 

Pidge let go and threw her arms in the air, spreading her legs and squatting a little as she did. She looked like the bear fighting fans when someone got mauled by a bear. “God is real! God is alive and he has  _ blessed us  _ on this day!”

 

“There are people trying to sleep, Pidge,” Keith chuckled, watching her in amusement. He didn’t know this had been such a long-awaited moment, although he supposed should’ve guessed.

 

“Oh my god, dude, we have to go find Hunk. And Allura. And Shiro. Oh my god, we have to go find  _ everyone,  _ ” Pidge gasped, her eyes wide. Keith sighed as she took off down the hall, yelling, “Come  _ on,  _ Keith! We have work to do!” over her shoulder. He followed after her reluctantly, moving much slower than she was but still faster than he normally would. Maybe her energy was rubbing off on him just a little.

 

By the time he reached the kitchen, Hunk was already yelling, “Wait, he did? FUCKING. FINALLY,” from inside, indicating that Pidge had already spread the news. Keith stepped inside and blushed at the immediate looks he got from both Shay and Hunk, marveling at the happy grins on their faces. He fished the note from Kolivan out of his pocket and presented it to Hunk, who read it quickly and nodded firmly.  

 

“No problem, I’ll cover it today. We can make food for Lance while we’re at it.”

 

Pidge snatched the paper from Hunk’s hands and read it herself, copying Hunk’s actions once she was finished. “You cook food for them and meet us outside of Kolivan’s room in, I don’t know, ten minutes? We’re gonna go tell everyone else.”

 

“If we’re gonna be doing more running can I go put on real pants?” Keith asked, gesturing to his robe.

 

“Yes, but make it fast. We! Have! Work! To! Do!”

 

Keith was pretty sure he’d never seen Pidge so passionate about something, and he couldn’t help but throw his head back and laugh as he followed her out of the room, racing back through the halls of the castle. Keith’s room wasn’t too terribly far away and he changed quickly, back into the clothes he’d slept in. That is to say, Lance’s clothes. Shoot him, he liked wearing them.

 

Pidge gave him a look when he stepped back into the hall, raking her eyes up and down his body slowly. It made him feel incredibly vulnerable. “You’re wearing Lance’s clothes.”

 

“Yup,” he confirmed, blushing a little. “We got a little wet yesterday, I had to borrow them.”

 

“I’m not even gonna ask,” Pidge responded, swiftly turning on her heel and fast walking in the opposite direction. Keith followed her as she made her way towards what Keith assumed as the map room, since it was the closest.

 

“How many people are you gonna tell?” Keith asked.

 

“Let’s see… aside from the people who already know there’s Allura, Coran, Shiro and Kolivan, and then Allura and Lance’s guards will want to know, too, so…” there was a pause as she counted on her fingers, “eight? Eight more people to tell.”

 

“Jesus Christ,” Keith muttered under his breath.

 

“Don’t ‘Jesus Christ’ me,” Pidge snapped playfully. “This is the perfect opportunity to embarrass the will to live right out of Lance. I refuse to pass it up.” She ended the conversation there by passing into the map room, the grin evident on her face even though Keith could only see her back. “Guess the fuck  _ what,  _ Shiro.”

 

“What?” Shiro replied, an evil twist to his features that sent shivers down Keith’s spine. That was the look of a dangerous man if he’d ever seen one. Keith was suddenly sure that Pidge and Shiro would make a great team if they ever shared a common enemy, and he made a mental note to stay on both of their good sides.

 

“Keith kissed Lance last night.” She said it with a playful lilt to her voice and a self-satisfied smirk on her face, as if she’d had some huge part in it, and Keith shook his head minutely, barely refraining from letting out a groan. He was slightly regretting telling Pidge right about now.

 

“Is that so?” Shiro drawled, a lazy grin on his lips. He reminded Keith of a cat, but one that belonged to the devil himself. Keith could’ve sworn Shiro wasn’t like this the other times they’d spoken, and he chalked it up to some special relationship between Shiro and Lance that Keith didn’t know about and didn’t necessarily want to understand.

 

“Yup,” Pidge twinkled, bouncing a little on her toes as she rubbed her hands together. “You wanna come with us to his room and embarrass the hell out of him?”

 

“Of  _ course _ ,” Shiro said passionately, sliding out of his chair and stalking across the room to where they stood. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for months.”

 

Even his walk reminded Keith of a cat now that he was paying attention to the similarities, his steps still as silent as ever and his movements fluid and graceful. He actually moved a bit like Lance, too, although he figured Lance was more similar to the ocean than anything else.

 

“Join the club,” Pidge mumbled under her breath, causing Keith to throw his hands up in the air. He was pretty sure he’d never heard Shiro laugh before but he did then, a low chuckle that Keith could almost feel reverberate through his chest.

 

Once they had returned to the hallway Pidge let out a long sigh, tipping her head back towards the ceiling in obvious despair. “Okay, finding Coran is gonna be a  _ chore  _ , so Shiro and I will do that while you go wake up Allura so we can meet Hunk back at Kolivan’s room faster,” she dictated, directing her words at Keith.

 

He was nodding along up until the point when what she’d said fully sunk in and he choked on his next breath, sputtering, “You want me to wake her  _ up? _ ” Pidge looked at him weird out of the corner of her eye, nodding slowly.

 

“Yeah. Just go in there and say ‘Hey, your brother’s wildest gay dreams are becoming reality, come with me if you want to watch’ and she’ll be up before you know it.”

 

“Fine,” Keith sighed, lifting a hand in a wave as they broke up to go down two separate hallways, Keith up a floor to the royal chambers and Pidge and Shiro to God knows where. Coran was probably in the library, to be honest, but the library was a maze in of itself, and Coran surely knew every  _ single  _ place to hide in there. They definitely had their work cut out for them.

 

Most of the castle was already up by now but they tended to stay out of the halls until later, all shut up in their rooms tending to their early morning duties. Keith only passed a handful of people on his way up the stairs, and they didn’t interact more than nodding their heads as they passed or sharing a sleepy smile.

 

The royal chambers were strung out along the third floor, spaced equidistantly through the hall. Lance’s room was the first one he passed, and Keith waved at Nyma and Rolo outside the door as he walked by and tried to digest the butterflies in his stomach. They grinned at him as if they hadn’t quite forgotten what time he left Lance’s room last night, and Keith made a point of looking away before they could catch his blush.

 

Keith continued down the hall at a slightly hurried leisurely pace, taking a moment to look around. He really hadn’t spent that much time on the third floor; he hadn’t had a reason to until now. It didn’t honestly look that different than the second floor where his room was, aside from the fact that it was a little bit more... barren. There was the usual art and statues lining the walls, but it lacked the personal touches like those on the floor below. He wasn’t sure what to make of it.

 

Keith turned the corner and tried not to sweat nervously as Allura’s guards (he was pretty sure their names were Plaxum and Rax, and they were both kind of scary, which he guessed was a good quality for guards) looked at him with slightly hostile curiosity. He briefly considered turning around and telling Pidge it was a bust, but he took a deep breath and forced himself to keep going, knowing Allura would crucify him for letting her miss this opportunity.

 

“The princess is asleep,” Rax said when Keith got close enough, crossing his arms over his chest and widening his stance. Keith tried to keep his face emotionless.

 

“I know. Pidge sent me to come, uh, wake her up.”

 

Plaxum narrowed her eyes slightly. “Why?”

 

Keith looked between them, cataloging the look on their faces. This was almost like an enemy encounter situation, and Shiro was pretty good at those. If Shiro was here, what would he do? “Do you want the whole story or the condensed version?”

 

Rax and Plaxum kept their eyes on Keith (the situation was made worse by the fact that they were  _ tall,  _ and loomed over Keith’s head like damn trees) as Rax raised two fingers in Plaxum’s direction and she raised one in return.

 

“The whole story,” Rax answered. Keith nodded and blew out a breath, patting his hands on his upper thighs nervously.

 

“Okay. Where to begin? Umm, yesterday Lance and I spent the day together on a what I assumed was supposed to be a date because he, like, broke the rules and took me out to Arus which was, like, super sweet, although I’m not positive it was because he never actually said anything about it, but anyway it was cute and a lot of fun and then when we came back to the castle I just kind of followed him to his room and we made a blanket nest on his bed and built a fire and read passages from books to each other and then he got real sleepy and needed to rest so I left but before I did I kissed him? So then this morning I went and found Pidge and told her about it and now we’re on a mission to round up a bunch of people to take them to Lance’s room before he wakes up and remembers what happened and essentially embarrass the shit out of him. And Pidge wants Allura to be a part of that plan, so she sent me to wake her up.”

 

Keith had apparently decided to take a page out of Lance’s book instead: nervous rambling.

They continued to stare at him for a few seconds before Plaxum snorted and Rax muttered, “Finally,” under his breath, their body language relaxing immediately. Keith stared back at them, bewildered, until Rax shook his head with a smile and explained. “We’ve been waiting on this since probably the first time Lance saw you. Took a lot longer than we thought, actually. Can we come?”

 

Keith nodded slowly. “Yeah. Pidge said you’d probably want to.”

 

“Heeell yeeeaah,” Plaxum hissed, pumping her fist. “Well, if you have other people to go gather, we’ll wake Allura up for you. It normally takes awhile to drag her out of bed, especially when Hunk isn’t here, smelling like food.”  

 

Keith nodded again and spun on his heel, calling a thank you over his shoulder as he made his way back down the hall. Nyma and Rolo were still grinning when Keith passed the second time, and he rolled his eyes and mouthed “I’ll be back,” as he went by. The sound of the giggling followed him down the stairs as he thought about where he should go next. Pidge and Shiro had probably found Coran by now, and even if they hadn’t it wouldn’t be too much longer, so he decided to make his way to Kolivan’s room and hope he didn’t have to awkwardly loiter outside of it by himself for too long.

Kolivan’s room actually wasn’t that far away from Keith’s, just a few hallways closer to the heart of the castle than his own. He’d never actually been to it, but it had been one of the first things Kolivan had shown him during his initial tour of the castle, so that Keith would know where to go should he ever need anything. Keith had never needed anything—until now, he supposed.

 

Coran, Shiro, Pidge, and Hunk were waiting outside the door when Keith arrived, the latter in the process of handing a tray of food to Coran while cradling a second one to his chest and Pidge looking incredibly impatient.

 

“Took you long enough,” she said when she looked up from where she was picking at her nails and saw him.

 

Hunk snorted and held his tray more securely with both hands, shaking his head. “I just got here.”

 

“Took you long enough,” Pidge repeated, slightly louder this time, cutting Hunk a glare. Keith raised his hands in surrender, moving closer.

 

“You could’ve gone in without me.”

 

Pidge started shaking her head as soon as the words left his mouth, her hair swaying back and forth over her face as she did.

 

“Nope, nopity nope nope nope. You misunderstand our secondary goal here, Keith. Who would we be to pass up the opportunity to allow you to explain to your mentor—the very man you look up to and trust—why you’re coming to his room at asscrack-o’clock in the morning with a tray of breakfast food and a request that he eat it as quickly as his throat will allow, or—better yet, wait until later—and follow you to your future boyfriend’s room? We would be cruel, Keith, that’s what we would be.“

 

Keith groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m really regretting telling you about this. I could’ve embarrassed Lance on my own.“

 

“Well, it’s far too late for that now, my boy! Let’s get this started, shall we?” Coran’s words were punctuated by Shiro stepping up and knocking on the door while Hunk placed the tray of food in his arms gently and Pidge shoved him forward not so gently, just a few seconds before the door swung open. Kolivan stood there in silence, his hair frizzing out of the braid slung over his shoulder and the look in his eyes appropriately tired of their shit.

 

“Breakfast in bed,” Keith said dumbly, holding the tray out to him. Kolivan’s eyes flicked down to appraise it before he lifted it from his hands slowly, setting it on a table just inside the door.

 

“You’re not Lance.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Where is Lance?”

 

“Still asleep.”

 

“This is his job.”

 

“He’ll be here tomorrow.”

 

“OH MY GOD,” Pidge broke in from behind them, shoving Keith from where he was standing awkwardly in the doorway and taking his place. “Is this how all of your conversations go? Jesus! Christ! Here’s the scoop, Kolivan. Keith kissed Lance last night, Lance is still asleep and therefore hasn’t remembered yet, so we’re rounding up a bunch of people to show up in his room and see if we can get him to blush so hard he combusts. Are you in or out?”

 

“Sure,” Kolivan said, stepping out of his room and closing the door behind him. Pidge rolled her eyes and threw her hands up in the air before turning around and herding them down the hall, smacking them in the back of the head if she thought they were moving too slow.

 

“All of you need time management training,” she muttered darkly from behind them, her gaze boring holes into their backs. Shiro turned his head almost unnaturally to glare back at her, obviously offended and rightfully so. “Except for you, Shiro,” she amended.

 

“I really don’t see the hurry,” Hunk grumbled. “Lance doesn’t  _ ever  _ get up this early.”

 

“I’M EXCITED. I WANT THIS TO HAPPEN AS SOON AS POSSIBLE,” Pidge yelled by way of explanation, the exasperation clear in her voice.

 

“I guess that’s a good reason,” Hunk mumbled.

 

“If any of you ever kiss anyone, for the love of God keep it to yourselves,” Keith warned, shaking his head in disbelief.

 

“Lesson learned,” Coran answered.

 

The herd of them shuffled up to Lance’s room as fast as they could, with the help of Pidge’s ever-present encouragement from behind. Nyma, Rolo, Plaxum, Rax, and Allura were all staring at them in amusement as they approached, looking at Keith in particular.

 

“The situation has been explained to us, and we’re fully on board,” Nyma said as they condensed into one group, huddled just outside the door.  

 

“Great,” Pidge beamed, clapping her hands together excitedly. “I’ll go in first and wake him up like I normally do, and then you guys can follow me in and just kind of stand there until he realizes we’re not alone and freaks the fuck out.”

 

“I feel like we should form a circle and put our hands in the middle and yell something before we start,” Hunk suggested. “You know, camaraderie and all that jazz.”

 

“Okay, but it has to be quiet so we don’t wake Lance before it’s time,” Pidge answered as they began to shuffle around and form a squashed, lopsided circle in the hall.

 

“What are we gonna say?” Rolo asked as they piled their hands in the center of the circle. Keith’s hand was unfortunately near the bottom, and he was only slightly repulsed by the amount of physical contact that was happening currently.

 

“I’ve got one,” Allura said brightly, looking positively overjoyed by the events that were taking place. “On the count of three, ‘gay boys and resolved romantic tension’.”

 

Keith’s responding groan was cut off by the countdown and resounding “Gay boys and resolved romantic tension!” whisper-shouted with gusto as they threw their arms in the air and broke the circle.

 

Pidge bounced towards the closed door and pulled it open swiftly, disappearing behind it before anyone could hold it open and let the others pass through after her. Shiro stepped up to reopen it and waved everyone through, taking up the rear once they were all inside. They fanned out into a rough, shoulder-to-shoulder single file line in the open living space just before Lance’s bed, close enough to hear what was happening but far enough away to be easily unnoticed by a recently awoken, groggy gay boy.

 

“Wake up, Lance-y Lance!” Pidge cheered, poking at what Keith assumed was his face, since his entire body was hidden somewhere under the covers. Lance let out a low groan and turned over, moving his cheeks out of Pidge’s reach. “You’ve got a big day ahead of you, making wedding plans and everything.”

 

Keith resisted the urge to reach out and smack her as Lance let out another groan with more of a confused intonation this time, shifting a little bit more. “Whhyyy would  _ I…  _ be making wedd-ding plans?” Lance mumbled, his soft voice muffled further by the fabric over his head. 

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Pidge said, snickering. “Think on it for a sec.” Keith could hear Lance mocking Pidge’s last words under his breath before all movement stopped, the body underneath the covers going very still.

 

“Pidge.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I might be wrong because I was very tired at the time and I’ve dreamt about it before, but I’m  _ pretty  _ sure that Keith kissed me last night.”

 

The room was silent for a few moments before Pidge burst out laughing, doubling over next to Lance’s bed. Lance made another confused noise but otherwise didn’t react, obviously used to having to wait for an explanation. That and he was probably blushing under the covers and didn’t want Pidge to see.

 

“I came here to embarrass you but it looks like you’re plenty capable of doing it on your own,” Pidge giggled eventually, taking giant, heaving breaths during the breaks in her laughter.

 

“What do you mean—” Lance asked, finally throwing the sheet off of his head. Keith only got a glimpse—unruly, slightly curly brown hair sticking up in every direction, wide, panicked eyes, flaming red cheeks, slightly parted lips that weren’t doing anything to increase his air flow because Keith was pretty sure Lance wasn’t breathing—before Lance was yelping loudly and burrowing under the 

blankets again, curling up into a ball. “Pidge! Why are there fucking ten people in my room!?”

 

“Eleven, actually,” Coran added helpfully as the others laughed, the sound a mixture of giggles and chortles and chuckles in a range of pitches that mixed together to make a truly amusing sound. Keith himself was laughing, just a little, as he stepped forward, Pidge close to cackling as she moved back and took his place in the semi-line they had formed.

 

Keith flopped onto the bed half on top of Lance, using his elbows to pull him closer and prop himself up so he could lean over him, similar to how he had the night before. “Hunk brought you breakfast.” Keith tried to ignore the fact that his voice had gotten a million times softer now that he was addressing Lance, warm in a way that seemed to be reserved for him—and that everyone in the room could hear it—and that his heart was fluttering wildly in his chest, just from being this close to him. “And we took care of Kolivan’s breakfast, too.”

 

“He told you about that?” Lance muttered quietly. Keith snorted softly in return.

 

“Yeah. He figured I needed an explanation as to where he’d be every morning. Don’t worry, though; I think it’s super sweet that you agreed to cook him breakfast in bed every day for a month, just so we could hang out. I appreciate it,” Keith grinned, although less amused and more undeniably fond.

Lance huffed. “It was worth it.”

 

Keith laughed softly, tugging at the sheets over his head, hard enough to get his message across but not hard enough to pull them down before Lance was ready. “Act like it, then.”

 

Lance huffed again and rustled the sheets as he folded them down away from his head and shoulders, twisting his spine to face Keith above him. Lance had a small pout on his lips as they stared at each other, their eyes searching the other’s—for what, Keith wasn’t sure. Or, didn’t want to admit. He decided that, although it was goddamn adorable, the pout on Lance’s lips just wouldn’t do, and he’d have to be the one to do something about it, so he slid his eyes shut and leaned down to press his lips very softly against Lance’s in an almost identical recreation of kiss number one.

 

Kissing was much better when fully awake, Keith decided, since he could feel the full effect of the butterflies in his stomach and the tingly pleasure zinging from his head to his toes, traveling along every nerve in his body.

 

Both of them ignored the chorus of “awwwww’s” sounding from behind them as they pulled apart just a little, eyes closed tight and hearts beating rapidly and warm air mingling in the limited space between them. Keith only waited a second before he pushed forward again and reconnected their lips, going so far as to slot them together this time, tilting their heads slightly to accomplish it. Lance’s hand touched the side of Keith’s face very lightly, very gently, as if he was afraid of hurting him or afraid of messing up or just afraid in general, his fingers winding around the loose strands of Keith’s hair and not letting go. Their lips met a third time and Keith very gently sucked Lance’s bottom lip into his mouth, pleased at the breathy, almost-a-moan noise he got in response.

 

They would’ve kept going if not for Keith’s yawn, pulling his mouth away from Lance’s with a sigh of disappointment from both of them. After fluttering his eyes open and observing the tail end of Keith’s yawn—which Keith attempted and failed to hide behind his hand—Lance seemed to understand all at once that Keith hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep the night before and gripped him by the elbows to pull him fully onto the bed as Keith kicked his shoes off onto the floor. They wiggled around until Keith was able to worm his way under the sheets, immediately enveloped by warmth. Lance hooked an arm around Keith’s waist and pulled him to his chest before wrapping his other arm around him, holding him tightly.

 

If this was what it was like for Lance to lay on his chest in the sand yesterday, then Keith understood why they’d stayed there for so long. It was fucking  _ comfy. _

 

Keith sighed contently, relishing in the warmth and the closeness of Lance’s body and the way he smelled like vanilla with just a hint of salt while Lance dealt with the people intruding on their moment.

 

“We’re taking a nap now. Get out.”

 

Keith could hear Pidge mocking Lance under her breath and Coran setting the tray of food that he was for some reason still holding on Lance’s desk as everyone made their way across the room towards the door, talking excitedly amongst themselves.

 

“You guys are super cute!” Plaxum yelled, with an accompanying noise of agreement from what sounded like Rax.

 

“You better not make any gross noises while we’re standing outside,” Rolo added. “We’re gonna be listening for it.”

 

“That’s gross,” Lance whined, the noise vibrating in his chest. Nyma and Rolo only snickered.

 

“I’m happy for you, brother!” Allura said with a laugh. “But Rolo’s onto something; no PDA in the halls.”

 

“So we can do PDA in other places? Just not the halls?”

 

“You know what I meant. No PDA where I can see it.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Hunk cut in, his amused grin evident in his voice. “You guys can always come to the kitchen to make out. Shay and I will protect you, and maybe even bake you a cake to celebrate young love.”

 

“You two need your own cake to celebrate young love,” Pidge muttered, making Hunk sigh heavily and Lance snort and jostle Keith.

 

“You’re welcome for letting you sneak out,” Shiro spoke up next, sniggering evilly. It was then Lance’s turn to sigh, long and loud, and Keith giggled into his shirt.   

 

“Don’t go running around telling everyone you let me sneak out. It makes both of us look bad.”

 

“Don’t worry, my boy! You already look bad,” Coran assured him cheerily.

 

“I thought you guys were leaving!” Lance yelled, tightening his grip on Keith’s torso.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Shiro answered sarcastically.

 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Kolivan called as they finally actually made it out the door, shutting it behind them.

 

“That means nothing,” Keith mumbled into Lance’s chest. “I’m pretty sure Kolivan would do anything.” Lance giggled, making Keith smile drowsily as they settled into silence and time lost its meaning and they both fell asleep. 


	10. so

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfor gathered every bit of strength in his body and raised his right hand, pointing a shaking, slender finger at the body next to Matt. Keith dropped his own arm and took a step back, his shoulders pulled tight. They all knew what his final request would be.
> 
>  
> 
> Hopefully his son could forgive him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's finally here !!! it hasn't been an entire year yet so you can't yell at me !!! also i separated it into chapters bc it needed to be done so

_ Alfor had fallen sick on his son’s sixteenth birthday. The festivities they had planned had been postponed—canceled, in reality—and Kolivan and his apprentice, of which Alfor did not know the name, had spent the day at his side, running a series of tests. _

 

_ When they had been unable to find the cause of his illness, Kolivan had told him not to worry. “It’s common,” he said, “for sickness to behave this way. We’ll watch you, and if you continue to grow worse and we still cannot find a cause or a cure, we’ll send for the traveling doctor.” _

 

_ Alfor had accepted it, had told the members of his court not to worry. It would take more than an unnamed illness to bring down a king of his stature. He refused to alert the public, not wanting to alarm the citizens or inspire mutiny if they felt it would be easy to take over the empire. The illness would pass, Alfor was sure, and it would be of no further concern. From there, it was settled. Life in the castle would continue on as usual.  _

 

_ His daughter’s twentieth birthday passed and Alfor didn’t feel much different; a little weaker, perhaps, but nothing more. He was there to witness the festivities from the seat of his throne, there to wish her well and see the empire rejoice at the completion of another year of their future queen’s budding life, and things felt quite normal.  _

 

_ In the days that followed, he returned to his duties around the castle, teaching his daughter to take after him and continuing to serve his empire as he had done his entire life. The illness was hardly ever mentioned, a tiny pebble in the back of his mind, a mere inconvenience rather than a threat. Alfor didn’t feel sick, didn’t feel as if he had any reason to be worried. How could they even be sure the illness hadn’t already passed? _

 

_ His son’s seventeenth birthday came next and Alfor was there to celebrate—the party carried out instead of canceled, as it had been the year before. His son looked absolutely radiant, obviously pleased that his father was well enough to attend this year. Alfor felt pride at seeing his son so grown up, so mature, even if all the potential would surely go to waste.  _

 

_ But despite the king’s assurances regarding the matter of his health as the days went on, by Kolivan’s standards he was still a sick man, still infected by an illness that none of them could understand or put a name to. Alfor certainly didn’t feel it; it felt as though whatever ailed him had passed, had been blown away by the gentle caress of the wind. Why couldn’t Kolivan just listen to him when he said he was fine? _

 

_ It was soon after that he began having the dreams. He hadn’t dreamt about her in a long time—not for years—yet here she was again, painted so vividly in his mind that he couldn’t even be sure she wasn’t real. She looked exactly as she had the last time he’d seen her, tucked into her coffin: rich brown hair tumbling down her back from beneath a circlet of golden vines and smooth caramel skin, wrinkles on her forehead from all the laughing she’d done and blood on her teeth from the way she’d been taken.  _

 

_ In his dreams, when she opened her eyes and opened her mouth and called out to him, her iris’ were still golden brown and shone in the rays of the sun just as they had before, and her voice was still a salve for his every wound, far more effective than anything Kolivan could attempt to make. She was still his wife, still his beautiful queen, still exactly the same as she had been up until the day she wasn’t around anymore.  _

 

_ He hated the dreams, hated always being haunted by her image when his eyes were open and staring at her figure when his eyes were closed. He asked Kolivan for every dream serum he had, but those were only good for nightmares and these dreams couldn’t be classified as such; he and his brain didn’t seem to be in agreement on how they felt about them. How could something, someone he’d missed so much be considered a nightmare? _

 

_ The worst nights were those when she parted her lips and spoke to him—more than just the gentle lilt of his name, carried over to him on the breeze. The worst nights were when they spoke to each other, carried out a conversation as if she’d simply been away on vacation all this time. It felt as if it was the same thing, the same words every night.  _

 

_ “Alfor, my dear. How have you been?” she’d ask, standing behind where he sat on his throne, running her soft fingertips through the thinning, silvery hair on his head.  _

 

_ “Just fine, my love,” he’d answer, afraid to admit that he’d been broken without her, afraid to admit that the years had dragged on and blurred in her absence, nothing but a foggy cloud in his head.  _

 

_ “How are things at the castle?” _

 

_ “Quite fine. Orderly. Everything running properly, smoothly. Haven’t had war in quite a few years, now.” _

 

_ She’d hum, sending shivers down his spine, digging her fingertips in to massage his scalp. “How lovely. I’m so glad to hear it. How are the children?” _

 

_ He’d gulp, swallow the lump in his throat, resist the urge to twist his hands in his lap and fidget. He rarely talked to his children. He saw his daughter most often; he had to teach her how to run the castle, after all. But it had been quite some time since he’d seen his son, since he’d looked him in the eyes and spoken to him. “Quite fine as well. Growing up to be beautiful adults, I tell you, capable of anything.” _

 

_ She’d laugh, a genuinely pleased sound, shifting her body closer to his even with the back of the throne situated between them. He could feel the phantom wisps of her warmth, nearly close enough to touch. “Wonderful, Alfor. I truly wish I could see it.”  _

 

_ He wished she could see it, too, wanted it more than anything. It followed him around as a companion to his shadow, manifested itself as a dark ball in the pit of his stomach so that it was always there to keep him company. It had been years and years and years since the last time he’d seen her face, and he’d made progress since then. Sleep had begun to come a little easier, and his hands didn’t shake quite as much when he thought of her, and it wasn’t as difficult to draw himself from the startling depths of his head when he found himself lost in them.  _

 

_ But now, here she was again.  _

 

_ It felt as if all of his progress went crashing backward at just the barest of touches, the most fleeting of looks. He wasn’t supposed to still be this in love with her after all these years, all this emptiness. He was supposed to be healed, supposed to be over it. _

 

_ The realization that, in actuality, he hadn’t healed at all was a heavy weight between his ribs and made each breath a little harder to draw. She was there, so close, so close. He wanted her back, hated being able to see her but being unable to have her the way he did before.  _

 

_ Her visits made him tired. Exhausted, even. Alfor felt as though she was drawing from his energy to be able to see him, taking just a little bit more of him each time she came. When he opened his eyes in the morning even his bones felt tired, his appendages unwilling to cooperate when he urged them to move, urged them to pull him out of bed.  _

 

_ He had foolishly believed he would be fine. He still didn’t know what it was that plagued him, but he knew it was taking pieces of him that he couldn’t possibly comprehend, gobbling them up and swallowing them whole. He didn’t know the reason but they were connected somehow, the sickness in him and the dreams he had every night without fail, each and every one of them about her. _

 

_ He knew she was a fever dream, an illusion, a trick of his floundering mind. But he didn’t care, couldn’t bring himself to admit it. He missed her, he yearned for her, and the tension drained out of his limbs at the slightest hint of her voice. How could he deny himself this, after so long without it? How could anyone blame him for leaning into the comfort of his greatest love? He just wanted to sleep, tucked into her side.  _

 

_ He was so very tired.  _

 

_ He had gone from feeling fine but a little fatigued to feeling foreign and absolutely drained in the course of perhaps a year, nothing changing save the face he saw behind his eyelids while he slept.  _

 

_ Because of his assurances, the castle had foolishly believed he would be fine as well. The members of his court had foolishly believed him when he told them that nothing was wrong, that even if ailed he would never fall. He was a sick man, infected with an illness that none of them could understand or put a name to, and he could see the uncertainty in their faces now that he bothered to look. Kolivan told him that he’d never seen anything like this, didn’t know what could have caused it or what could be done.  _

 

_ His daughter’s twenty-first birthday passed and he could not make it out of bed, although she asked him about it later that night when they were alone behind his eyes and he told her that the celebration had been absolutely divine. It was what he had heard, at least; not a complete lie even if he hadn’t been there to see it for himself.  _

 

_ Nowadays he awoke from his dreams shaking, his mind too weak to put up a fight, his muscles too tired to control themselves, his heart too tired to care.  _

 

_ His son’s eighteenth birthday passed and he didn’t even remember until that night, when she reminded him in her honey-sweet voice that their baby boy was all grown up now, a proper man. Alfor couldn’t really remember what his son looked like, but it didn’t seem to bother her. It made him wonder how much of his mind she could even see.  _

 

_ Sometimes, it felt like he never managed to wake up. Sometimes he swore he was trapped in his head for days at a time, sweating through his sheets. She was always there to keep him company, though, as talkative as ever—curious about who still worked for them and what the city now looked like beyond the castle walls since she hadn’t been there in so long. She used to love it out there, lost in the throngs of people who never quite saw her as a queen.  _

 

_ He had changed his mind about her again, though he couldn’t quite be sure when. He wanted her to go away. She was devouring him slowly, night by night, making sure it took a terribly long time. Sometimes he even swore he could feel it, could feel her ripping him apart one piece at a time. He was so tired. He wanted to sleep, but her alluring dreamland never let him rest. He was always awake, always answering her questions, always leaning into her fragile touch. He didn’t have the strength for it to be different.  _

 

_ One day he had awoken to the sound of someone yelling, saying, “Matt! Matt! Send for Kolivan at once!” _

 

_ Matt was the name of one his guards, he remembered, and Matt was the younger of the two—the calmer one with the handsome face and the coppery hair that always hung in his eyes.  _

 

_ Time passed quickly when he was awake, slipping through his fingers like a ribbon on the breeze, and Kolivan and his nameless assistant were standing over him when he next blinked his eyes, the fear clear on their faces. He truly was going to die, then, lost at the hands of a hollow vision from his past.  _

 

_ Alfor couldn’t force himself to pay attention while they collected their synopsis of his health, but his interest was brought back to the present when Kolivan called the boy by name—called him Keith—and told him to send for the traveling doctor, the best doctor in all of Altea. _

 

_ Keith. He’d heard that name before, was quite sure of it. Where? From whose lips? On what day of what year at what time? His brain was hardly there anymore, comprised mostly of mush. As if he could remember.  _

 

_ When he opened his eyes next there stood a man he didn’t recognize above his bed, probing at his abdomen with his gentle hands. He was quiet for a long moment as he poked around Alfor’s weak limbs and placed his palm against Alfor’s damp forehead, and when he finally parted his lips to speak, nothing in his expression looked pleased.  _

 

_ “I know what’s wrong with him, but I’m afraid it is not good news,” the man said solemnly. He must be the traveling doctor, come to fix him so he could live to see the day his daughter took over the empire.  _

 

_ “What do you mean it is not good news? How could it possibly not be good news?” Kolivan asked, the closest to losing control over himself that Alfor ever remembered him being.  _

 

_ “He is sick with something that is not of our world, sir. It does not exist within what we consider to be normal, what we consider to be human. It is almost a curse, if you will. I know not where he got it, but the only cure for what ails our mighty king is a remedy potion made by a witch, unobtainable by any other means. If you find a witch that is willing, they will know which potion to make. I’m afraid the specifics are outside my pool of knowledge.” There was a pause, a heavy silence pressing against the walls of the room, trying to pull them closer. Alfor felt small, nothing like the mighty king he’d been in days past.  _

 

_ No one dared break the silence, afraid of its weight. Everyone knew how Alfor felt about witches. Even Alfor himself, mind half gone and memory impaired, knew how he felt about witches. He would never accept the cure.  _

 

_ “There has to be another way,” Kolivan insisted after many moments too long, his voice rough.  _

 

_ “I’m afraid there is not. Obtain the potion and convince His Majesty to drink it and he will live, or don’t, and he will die. There is nothing else to be done.” _

 

_ The promise of death resonated deeply in Alfor’s chest. He was a proud man, a man that would never agree to be saved by the creature he hated most. What kind of message would it send to his people? Who would he be if he couldn’t stand behind the matter he’d always felt strongest about, even in the face of death? No, absolutely not. He would never give in. Alfor was not a weak king, nor would he be remembered as such. He would take his death as it came.  _

 

_ It wasn’t until much later, after the room had cleared and he was alone in his chambers, that he remembered where he’d heard the name. _

 

_ “Your son is in love,” she had told him a few nights ago, casually, as if this wasn’t the first time he was hearing the news. Perhaps it wasn’t; how could he be sure? Nothing was right in his head anymore. _

 

_ “My son? In love? With who? There isn’t a girl in this castle suit for him.” _

 

_ She had laughed, as clear and bright as always, if not a little more belittling than he was used to. “It’s not a girl, my dear. Our son was never meant to fall in love with a girl.” _

 

_ He had been startled into silence, slowly blinking his eyes that felt open too wide and dumb-looking. “What do you mean it isn’t a girl? Who in the world is it, then?” _

 

_ Another laugh, one that made him feel thick and stupid. “His name is Keith.” _

 

_ “I’ve no idea who that is,” he’d responded curtly. It was all he could think to say. How dare his son find love and try to hide it from him, fall in love with another boy, no less. Didn’t he know that the king always found out about everything? _

 

_ “You really should get out more, love,” she had hummed, tsking softly at him. How could he? He’d be trapped in his head for weeks now.  _

 

_ When the hazy remembrance of his dreams past had released him and he blinked his way back to the present, the very boy was standing above his bed. He couldn’t be sure how much time had passed, but Keith looked more tired than the last time Alfor had seen him. Matt stood over his shoulder, hair in his face as always, watching on in silence. _

 

_ Alfor knew nothing about this boy, had never officially met him. The features on his face were unfamiliar, but the look they were twisted into was not. He seemed to have accepted something, accepted something horrible, and the weight of it was pressing on his shoulders, threatening to drag him to the floor. He’d never looked this small before, in all the times Alfor had seen him.  _

 

_ When he lifted his hand, there was a vial closed very tightly in his fist.  _

 

_ It took several moments for Alfor to gather his words, to clear the fog from his head and pull his voice from his throat. _

 

_ “What… is this,” he rasped, his voice barely there.  _

 

_ “Salvis vita suci,” Keith answered, his features stoic, his voice steady, his eyes an unwavering force. “The cure.”  _

 

_ “Where did... you get it?” _

 

_ “I made it.” There was a flicker of something across Keith’s face, there and gone again, a trick of the light. Matt shifted uneasily behind him, his eyes flickering shut for just a moment, the way he held himself pained. Alfor knew what it was to be pained. _

 

_ “I do not care much for witches,” Alfor replied, his heart beating heavy in his chest. His eyes flickered down to the vial clenched in a pale fist and he thought that it looked much like the blue sky on a cloudless day, much like the glow of happiness in his son’s eyes that was all he could remember about him and the glint of jewelry against his daughter’s skin, the only part of her that stuck out in his mind. Alfor didn’t want to die. _

 

_ “I know,” Keith replied simply, his fingers never loosening their grip.  _

 

_ “I don’t want that.” It sounded petulant even to his own ears, he knew, but he had too many years of pride built up to throw it all aside now. If he gave up on this, then what had it all been for? All the pain, all the suffering, all the horrifying decisions and gut-wrenching guilt when something went wrong, all the misery thrumming in his veins and the way he could never quite forget that someone had taken his wife. He had to make it mean something, and this was his only way.  _

 

_ Alfor didn’t want to die. _

 

_ “I know,” Keith repeated. “I just thought you might change your mind if you were face to face with it.” _

 

_ Foolish boy. He was always face to face with it. It was jailed behind his thin eyelids, a constant reminder—as if he could forget. Alfor hadn’t needed the diagnosis of the doctor to know he was dying, to know he wouldn’t be saved. He had known the whole way through, but he had never accepted it. But now, inches from a cure, a witch boy who had captured his son’s heart, and a guard who had sworn his life to protect Alfor’s, he accepted it.  _

 

_ Alfor didn’t want to die. _

 

_ But he would.  _

 

_ God, he’d do it, if only to spite the laughing figure frisking in the plains of his mind. She wanted him to die, had set his demise in motion. The last thing she expected was for him to stop fighting back.  _

 

_ Alfor tried to find himself, tried to remember who he was. He was a magnificent king who hated witches and everything they stood for, a fantastic father who wouldn’t allow his son to be in love with one, and a cautious man who wouldn’t let his son waste his life and his potential being “in love” with another boy. _

 

_ With every breath rattling his lungs as if it was threatening to be his last, Alfor made up his mind. If he had to die, someone else had to die, too.  _

 

_ “Matt,” he breathed, the sound too loud against his ears. Matt stepped forward, hovering at Keith’s side. Keith still had the vial held out to him, but his hand was shaking now, no longer the steady force it had been before.  _

 

_ “Yes, Your Majesty?” Matt was always quick to serve, quick to please. Alfor was certainly going to miss him.  _

 

_ “Do me a favor, Matt. Fulfill the dying wish of a bitter king.” Matt went very stiff, his eyes wide behind the stringy curtain of his bright, bright hair. He nodded very slowly, his pulse visible against his throat.  _

 

_ “Of course, Your Majesty. What can I do for you?” _

 

_ Alfor gathered every bit of strength in his body and raised his right hand, pointing a shaking, slender finger at the body next to Matt. Keith dropped his own arm and took a step back, his shoulders pulled tight. They all knew what his final request would be. _

 

_ Hopefully his son could forgive him.  _

 


	11. much.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For as long as Keith could remember, he had smelled like smoke. Or, rather, his magic had.

 

_ For as long as Keith could remember, he had smelled like smoke. Or, rather, his magic had.  _

 

Keith had never been sure of why, really, but it had become a comfort to him, the fact that it was a part of him that would never change. Every witch’s magic had a residual scent, and the smell of wood smoke was his; always had been, always would be. 

 

So somehow, despite all that, Keith hadn’t been the first one to notice that the smell of his magic had changed. That deduction went to his boyfriend of a little over three years, Prince Lance. 

 

“You never smell like smoke anymore,” Lance had mumbled into Keith’s neck while he hugged him from behind, almost sounding like he was complaining. Keith had simply wrinkled his nose, desperately stamping down the rising panic in his throat. 

 

Lance wasn’t supposed to be able to smell it. The scent was for other witches exclusively, and Keith was positive that Lance wasn’t one. Keith had no explanation for why it was detectable for Lance, or what that meant for him, but it scared him just the same. 

 

“What do I smell like now?” Keith had hummed in response, leaning back into his chest. Lance had paused, taking a dramatic sniff of his shoulder where he had shoved his face and shrugging. 

 

“The ocean.”

 

Keith had never,  _ ever  _ smelled like the ocean before. He lowered his head to smell his shirt and sure enough, the distinct saltiness of the ocean waves rose to greet him, not a hint of the thick, acrid smoke left behind. Lance himself still smelled like salted vanilla, so how was it that his scent had suddenly changed? And how had he not noticed before now?   
  


It had led him to doing some research. 

 

He’d snuck down to the library one night and plucked every book he could find about witches off the shelves, letting his fingers run over each book in its rightful place before he disturbed it, making sure his magic would know where to return it to later. After piling them in neat stacks around his favorite spot in the back corner, he’d spent all night there, flicking through pages and scanning headlines, searching for something that could tell him what had happened.

 

He found the answer about halfway through his search, in a book that looked older than time itself. It was located in a passage conveniently titled “Witches & Their Scents”, situated about halfway down the page. 

 

It read:  _ The aroma of a witch’s magic is reminiscent of a tragic or important event from their past, often from the first time they received or used their magic. For much of a witch’s life, the scent of their magic will stay unchanged and unaltered. However, there are two cases in which a witch’s scent may be transformed, one more common in occurrence than the other.  _

 

His scent was certainly reminiscent of the first time he’d been given his magic. He’d used a memory spell on himself once, curious to remember how his parents had died, restlessly curious to know if he’d been there that day and what he’d seen if he was. He had since filled in many of the details with things he knew now—things that he’d learned and observed and picked up along the way—but what his four-year-old brain had known was this: both of his parents were witches. Or, they could do things that Keith himself could not (he hadn’t had a strong concept of magic at the ripe age of four, but he understood at least that his parents were not like him). 

 

In their humble cottage near the center of Balmera, a city best known for housing the royal monastery, there was always a lot going on. His parents had never stopped their seances and rituals, not even after Keith was born. They wanted to introduce him to the life of witches as soon as they could, even before they decided whether or not they wanted to turn him into one. Their kind of magic wasn’t born, it was borrowed. His parents would be the ones to decide his fate. 

 

He also remembered a stray cat who liked to roam their neighborhood and pop in for a visit every once in a while. Keith had been sat on the table a ways away from a thin, stone ritual bowl full of flame, trapped behind a wall of hard air that kept him from getting himself into trouble. However, the air only kept him in; it didn’t keep anything else out. Using their kind of magic as proper protection was something one had to do for oneself; it wasn’t something that could be cast upon another. 

 

So when the neighborhood cat finished prancing around the high shelves in his living room and decided to jump back down to the table—ultimately miscalculating its destination, landing in the bowl, and effectively knocking it off the table as it scrambled back out again—Keith was vulnerable. And his parents were in the kitchen, gathering ingredients for their unfinished ritual, unaware and unable to be told. 

 

Some part of Keith sensed something was wrong, but he was fascinated by the cat. He had never seen something burn before, had never gotten to see his parent’s rituals past the preliminary stages. He’d never heard the cat make so much  _ noise _ , either, and his ears didn’t like the racket—he wished they could close against the high-pitched yowling and piercing screeches to protect him. He couldn’t, however, be bothered to cry or complain or fuss, because he’d never seen something  _ burn _ before. He was watching a cat burn alive before him, writhing around on the table as it attempted to put out the flames, a pretty pattern unfurling along its fur as it melted and turned to ash. 

 

Finally, something—perhaps the smell—kicked his mind into gear and before he could cry “Kitty! Kitty! Kitty!” and try to find the words to beg someone to save it, his mother was yelling “Fire! Fire! Fire!” and pounding on the kitchen door that had been knocked and sealed shut by a fallen piece of timber from their burning ceiling.

 

A great deal of their house was on fire now and Keith began to cry, the smoke stinging his eyes as the howling of the cat ceased and the banging sound of his parents behind the door only grew louder. Keith had never quite figured out why his parents didn’t use their magic to clear the door and carry all three of them out of the house alive, but before he knew it his limbs were tingling and glowing a faint red color, and the wall of air around him was hardening further until the smoke swarming him had cleared and the heat no longer threatened to singe his skin. 

 

When every last board had burnt and the smoke had cleared, all that was left was Keith, sat behind a wall of hardened air atop a charred table. He was a witch now, and his parents were dead, and his magic would carry the scent of wood smoke until the age of eighteen because of it. 

 

_ If the witch endures an event of greater importance or greater tragedy later in life than that of which bore their original smell, the scent will change and become reminiscent of this event instead. Alternatively, if a witch falls in love and the love is not ill-advised, born of impure motives, or regarded with distaste, the witch’s magic will change to match the favored scent belonging to the object of their affection.  _

 

Keith had read the passage, read it again, and read it one more time just to be sure he understood. If what he was reading was correct... Keith was in love with Lance, and Keith smelled like the ocean because it was Lance’s favorite smell. 

 

Keith had stopped and thought about it for a moment. It wasn’t that he disagreed with the passage _ — _ it certainly made sense, that he was in love with Lance—he had just never imagined that the pages of an ancient textbook would be what finally made him realize. Maybe he was denser than he thought. And it still didn’t explain why Lance could smell it if he wasn’t a witch himself. 

 

_ Perhaps even more interesting,  _ the book continued,  _ is the effect on a witch’s magic if their romantic feelings are returned. The faint, colored glow of their magic has been said to change as well, often becoming a mixture of the individual's favorite colors, representative of the joining of two souls into one.  _

 

Keith had frozen after reading that particular section. Lance’s favorite color was blue, and Keith’s favorite color was red, so if Lance loved him back, their favorite colors would combine to make a pretty color—to make purple—and Keith wouldn’t be stuck with some fuck-ugly color like yellowish brown or greenish grey for (god, he hoped) the rest of his life. 

 

All he had to do to know if Lance loved him back was use his magic and relax his grip on his conscience to determine what color it was. 

 

With a flick of his wrist, he’d sent his research books back to their appropriate places on the shelves, letting his mind slip away from him for just a moment as he widened his gaze to take in the entire room, watching trails of deep purple blaze behind the books as they went. 

 

So, although Keith hadn’t found what he’d come hoping to find, he now knew that he loved Lance and Lance loved him, and together they smelled like vanilla ocean waves and painted in purple. 

 

Keith had left the library that night incredibly happy, ignoring the fact that he hadn’t had a wink of sleep and returning to their room to wake Lance up with a giant kiss and about a million “I love you”s mumbled into his chest (which had been sleepily, giddily, and somewhat confusedly returned).

 

It had all happened a few months before the official diagnosis of the king, when Alfor was sick but they assumed it was still minor, something to be healed with time. It was back when Lance still walked around with a spring in his step and woke up every morning looking rested. It was before Matt informed them that Alfor spent more time with his eyes closed and his mind somewhere far away than he did in the present, before Keith had stood at Kolivan’s side and watched the king sweat and shake and move his eyes rapidly back and forth behind his eyelids, his limbs shivering as if they were resisting reaching out and grabbing something that existed only in his mind.

 

Keith had known from the very first time he’d heard about the severity of the king’s dreams what was likely the cause but he hadn’t been sure, hadn’t wanted to be sure. The diagnosis from the traveling doctor had only confirmed what he thought he already knew; the king was going to die unless he accepted a cure, a cure that could be made only by witches, which happened to be the king’s least favorite thing in the world. Everyone in the room knew that it would never happen, that the king would, therefore, be dead very soon. 

 

It was from that point on that Keith began to feel the guilt. He had been lying to Lance since the day he met him; or, omitting a very important truth. He’d never stopped using his magic around Lance like he told himself he would, but he never bothered to let Lance in on the secret. They’d been dating for just over three years now and he’d never once trusted his situation enough to tell Lance about what he was hiding. He wanted to tell him, and he didn’t believe that Lance would turn on him and have him killed if he knew, but Keith was afraid. 

 

He’d heard so many stories, especially during his time on the streets, of witches being overheard, spied on, turned in by neighbors who were afraid of the consequences. He trusted Lance, and he trusted a handful of other people, too, but he was nowhere near trusting everyone in the castle. He was nowhere near the point where he felt comfortable opening his mouth and saying the words, “I’m a witch”. He wanted to live, thank you very much.

 

But that was before Alfor. Keith couldn’t possibly hold his life over Alfor’s. Alfor was a king, a hero and a role model and a public image to many, the father of his boyfriend and a great ruler of their empire who had done very little wrong by his people. Keith was only a parentless apprentice to a man that could easily replace him. Who was he to say that Alfor should die and he should live? He knew the king’s time would come eventually, but he was still quite young. If Keith had the chance to add years to an important man’s life, shouldn’t he take it?

 

Especially considering Lance. He’d been a thousand times dimmer since he figured out that his father might not make it, since he’d realized that he could stop breathing at any moment. He’d already lost one parent, and he certainly didn’t deserve to lose another. Being an orphan had been hard enough on Keith and he hadn’t even really known his parents; he couldn’t imagine what it’d be like for Lance.

 

Keith cared about Lance more than he’d ever cared about anyone, and it felt only right to do this for him, even if he knew what it meant for himself.

 

The scariest part of making the cure for Alfor wasn’t the promise of death, either. It was the look that would surely crease Lance’s features when he found out that Keith had been lying about an integral part of himself since the day they met. He never wanted to hide from him, never wanted to lie, wished he would’ve dug up the courage to tell him years ago, but it was too late now. If he was going to make the cure, it was something he’d have to face. 

 

It had been a couple weeks since the traveling doctor had informed them that Alfor could be cured with nothing but the elixir that would have to be made by Keith, if anyone. Alfor was getting worse with every fevered dream he pulled himself out of, and if Keith was going to act, it had to be now. It was decided to keep the king’s illness out of the public eye, but Coran and the rest of the King’s Court decided it would be wise for Allura to take over rule and be officially crowned as Queen of the Altean Empire. Her small, castle-resident only coronation ceremony was taking place tonight, providing Keith with the perfect opportunity to make the cure, free of interruptions, free of people questioning him and trying to talk him out of it. 

 

He wanted Lance’s father to live, no matter what he had to sacrifice. 

 

Keith's first stop was the library, where he borrowed a book full of archaic spells, rituals, and runes. Many of the pages had been burnt away or torn out or marked through, but he knew he’d find the one he needed. He could feel it calling to him through the parchment. 

 

The medic bay was surprisingly eerie when it was empty and dark, and Keith had made it a habit to always have someone with him when he was inside. The atmosphere didn’t at all help his dark mood, and he felt himself frowning heavily as he set the book on his favorite work table. He missed Lance already, and he hadn’t even officially sealed his fate yet. 

 

The book fell open to the page he needed when he placed it on its spine and let the hard front covers drop, mostly due to his magic. He scanned the requirements of the cure quickly, a mixture of relieved and resigned to see that the medic bay was stocked with all the necessary ingredients. Seeing no point in putting it off, he got to work.

 

The name of Alfor’s sickness was  _ Plaga Somnia,  _ otherwise known as the Dream Plague. It was a terrible curse of sorts that made a demon of the one you loved the most, serving as a distraction to the conscious while the curse ate away at the mind. Keith had never seen it in real life before now, but had heard quite unpleasant stories about it, enough to get shivers every time he thought about what the king must be going through. 

 

The first three ingredients were Passionflower, Lavender, and Magnolia Bark, all commonly used to promote better sleep. Keith pulled their containers from the wall and grabbed a mortar and pestle, pouring adequate amounts of each into the bowl and grinding them into as fine a dust as he could manage.  

 

The next three ingredients were Sandalwood Oil, Rose Oil, and Lemon Balm, used to banish bad dreams. He added the balm to the bowl first, mashing the leaves beneath his pestle before adding generous amounts of the oils, mixing it all together. Its smell was more pleasant than its purpose, and Keith was almost lulled into a false sense of security by the familiarity of the process, the familiarity of the aroma. He’d made a million potions before, in this very spot, and not one had carried such a weight as this. Not one had ever had the ability to cost him his life. 

 

The last ingredient—well, the second to last ingredient, gave pause to the process. It wasn’t that it was hard to get, hard to use, or unpleasant. No, it was none of those things. It simply carried with him a weight that he’d never noticed before, that he’d never given much thought to until it was staring him in the face. 

 

The ingredient in question was Chamomile flowers. Commonly used as a sedative when one couldn’t get to sleep, uncommonly used as a remedy against poison when mixed with other ingredients. The predominant imagery in his mind wasn’t of potion making, however. It was of Lance, of their first date, when Lance had taken a risk to sneak them out and allow them to spend time together somewhere new. He never imagined that he’d look back on that day—on the entire course of their relationship—with such a heavy, drowning sadness, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be happy or to be grateful when he was days away from losing it. 

 

Keith let the memories play in his head for just a moment, just long enough to feel the tears prick at the corners of his eyes as it all came back to him. What he had with Lance was amazing, beautiful, perfect. Not once had he ever imagined he’d be throwing it away, even if it was to serve a cause that went beyond him, even if it was to make Lance happy. 

 

The Chamomile flowers went in mostly whole, serving their purpose best if implemented later, with the inclusion of the last item. The final ingredient on the list was arguably the most important, the part of the cure that made it unobtainable to those who were magicless: his blood. 

 

His blood was where his magic lived, where it pooled in his body and made him feel whole. He could always feel the rush of his power best in the parts of his body that were blood-heavy, whenever he pulled at his reserve and used it. 

 

A few drops of his enriched blood would activate the other ingredients, pulling it together to create what could then be used as a cure for  _ Plaga Somnia.  _ He swiped a knife from the surface of Kolivan’s work table and inspected the tip, staring at the darkened outline of his face in the shiny metal for a long moment. 

 

This was it. If he broke his skin, drew an adequate amount of blood and let it  _ drip, drip, drip  _ into the bowl with the rest of the ingredients, he’d be signing away the rest of his life, the rest of his days with Lance, the rest of his chances to live and laugh and be someone. He’d be giving up everything he worked so hard to experience when he was young and alone on the streets, struggling every day to survive. He’d be doing something that he absolutely couldn’t take back. 

 

But, it was all worth it, wasn’t it? If it brought the smile back to Lance’s lips, if it brought the light back to his eyes, it would all be worth it.

 

He brought the blade to his skin and carved a shallow line into the back of his forearm, small and just deep enough for a few beads of blood to appear. It was enough to get the desired effect, to activate the cure. The reaction was immediate, the color of the serum changing the second the first drop of blood made contact. It went from a beautiful dark purple to a bright blue, seeming to almost glow in the darkened room, illuminating the gentle swirling pattern beginning to appear just below the surface. 

 

The petals of the Chamomile flowers formed the vague shape of a cloud before they dissolved, melting into the background as if they’d never been whole at all. That was the final step. The cure was done. Now all he had to do was deliver it.

 

Keith poured the liquid into a small vile that fit in his palm nicely and left the bowl on the table, unbothered by the idea of someone finding it later. By the end of the day, everyone would know what he had done. It no longer mattered; there wasn’t any reason to hide. 

 

With every step towards the third floor, the location of the royal chambers, the set of his shoulders grew heavier and heavier, his heart pounding monstrously in his chest. Some part of him knew that what he was doing was absolutely stupid. The king would never accept the cure, would never allow himself to be saved by something he’d killed hundreds of. He was essentially turning himself in for no reason, ending a life he’d been looking forward to living. 

 

But Keith was well-known for being stubborn and he had  _ seen  _ the look on Lance’s face when Kolivan had told him that his father most likely would not make it, and he would do anything he could to bring the light back to Lance’s eyes. If there was any shot in hell that he could fix this, make everything okay again, he was going to do it, consequences be damned. 

 

His body didn’t seem to have the same gritty resolve as his mind, however, and it took him much longer to climb the stairs than normal, due to the fact that his legs were shaking so bad he could hardly stand. He was going to die. He was going to die and it would almost be at his own hands, and it might even be for nothing. God, he wished this decision was easier to make, but nothing about Lance or magic was easy, it seemed. 

 

Matt stared at him his entire way down the hall. Slav was at Allura’s ceremony, a stand-in for her father, but Matt was still here, guarding the door as he’d always done. 

 

“Hey, Keith,” he said when he got close enough, brows arched curiously. “Why aren’t you at Allura’s ceremony?” 

 

“Wasn’t invited,” he replied, his mouth dry and his voice slightly raspy. Not entirely true; as far as he knew, everyone thought he’d wedged himself somewhere in the back corner of the reception hall and was watching from there, quiet and socially distant as always. They were hopefully too busy to notice his absence. He didn’t have time to be hunted down, didn’t have the words to explain.

 

“Well, what’s your business here, then?” 

 

“I brought the king a little… present.” Keith’s choice of words put Matt on edge and Keith winced, drawing his arms closer to his sides. 

 

“What kind of present?” he asked suspiciously. 

 

“The kind of present he probably won’t accept,” Keith mumbled, his eyes trained on Matt’s feet. Matt was quiet for a few moments before he stepped aside, his trust in Keith outweighing whatever he’d gleaned from Keith’s body language. 

 

“You can go in. But he might not be awake. And I’m going in with you.” 

 

Keith nodded, gently gripping the ornate handle of the gigantic door and pulling it open, refusing to recoil at the robust scent of sweat and unwashed body that assaulted him. Keith couldn’t remember the last time the king had been strong enough to get out of bed. 

 

Alfor was lying still as death when Keith approached, his muscles rigid and his face contorted in a confused sort of pain. His breathing was soft, unevenly spaced, forceful one minute and barely there the next. He looked like a man on the brink of death, his silver hair plastered to his forehead, his cheeks dangerously flushed and his skin unnaturally pale. He looked like a porcelain doll with lines of harsh paint, not a mighty king with an empire to protect. 

 

Keith felt Matt come to a stop behind him, almost close enough to press his chest against Keith’s right shoulder. He tried not to tense up, taking deep breaths through his nose in a futile attempt to keep his heart rate under control. This was a choice he had made, he had to face it.   

 

King Alfor’s eyes fluttered open a second later, his pupils blown wide, gazing at the ceiling unfocused until they darted to the side and began to study Keith’s face. His own face seemed to crumple at the sight of him, as if Keith had committed some transgression he was unaware of. If that was the case, he was only about to add another to the list. The king’s eyes flit over Keith’s shoulder to absorb the sight of Matt behind him until they returned to Keith, hardened with an unidentifiable edge this time. 

 

Alfor seemed to recognize something in Keith, but whether it was his features themselves or the look that was surely ingrained in them he was unsure. It hardly mattered, anyhow. Keith raised his hand, his fingers aching where they were clenched around the vial nestled in his palm. Matt stiffened behind him, ready to intervene if he was needed. 

 

Alfor’s mouth twitched and his Adam’s apple bobbed, his eyelids flickering as the effort to speak became obvious in the lines of his face. Keith waited patiently, his arm outstretched and slightly bent at the elbow, his knuckles a similar pallor to that of Alfor’s entire body as they held on tightly to the cure.

 

“What… is this.” 

 

It wasn’t a question. He didn’t appear to have the strength or the patience to make it sound like a question. However, he got his message across just the same, his voice barely able to be heard.

 

“Salvis Vita Suci,” Keith answered, the words unfamiliar on his tongue as opposed to of rolling around inside his head. “The cure.”

 

Alfor’s eyes shuttered, his features slackening before tightening up again. “Where did... you get this?”

 

Keith’s breath caught in his throat, his heart beating solidly in his chest. If he said the words out loud, there’d be no way of escaping, no way of pleading insanity on the king’s part. Matt was standing right behind him, and Keith had no reason to believe he would let him go. “I made it.” He felt his face twitch, felt his despair welling in the back of his mind. He felt Matt shift behind him, the soft escape of his breath moving the thin hairs around Keith’s head.

 

With those words, the deed was done. It no longer mattered if the king accepted the cure or not, if the king lived to see another day beyond what his sickness allowed him. Keith was as good as dead, now. He felt strangely numb, the tension melting from his shoulders as he continued to stand there, eyes on the king as his features softened for the barest moment, his eyes rolling into the back of his head before they were on Keith again, dull and pained. 

 

It took him another moment to answer, and all the while Keith stood there losing hope, cursing himself, preparing himself for what was sure to come next. He could only hope Lance could see the reasoning, see the value behind what he’d done. 

 

“I do not care much for witches,” the king said finally, his words landing flat. He simply sounded tired, watery around the edges. Keith tried not to flinch. That, he already knew. The king’s eyes flickered to the vial in his hand and the muscles in his face slackened, making the king look like a puppy lost in the rain. Keith didn’t know what to do. 

 

“I know,” he said simply, his limbs suddenly heavy and cumbersome. He desperately wanted to drop his outstretched arm but he didn’t dare, keeping it exactly where it was.

 

“I don’t want that,” the king said, sounding like a child. His eyes never left the vial, even as shadows flickered across them. Keith found it suddenly hard to breathe. 

 

Alfor didn’t look very much like he wanted to die, but Keith knew that he would, just the same. 

 

“I know,” Keith said again. “I just thought you might change your mind if you were face to face with it.”

 

Alfor’s face fell, his features wiping themselves of all emotion. 

 

Keith knew then, in that exact moment, that he had failed to convince him. For a moment he was angry, furious at the king for acting a coward and a fool, for leaving his children—leaving  _ Lance _ —behind, all alone. But he very quickly remembered himself, pushing his anger out and away. Because, after all, was he not doing the same thing?

 

The king’s eyes slid shut for a few tense moments before they blinked back open, finding their way over to Matt. The king breathed Matt’s name, barely audible over the frantic beating of Keith’s heart. It was only a matter of time.

 

Matt slid closer, standing shoulder to shoulder with Keith, his focus entirely on the king. If nothing else, at least Matt was good at his job. Keith’s fingers were shaking now, the cure sloshing against the sides of the vial. He couldn’t bring himself to drop his hand. His offer was still on the table, after all. 

 

“Yes, Your Majesty?” Matt’s voice wobbled, uncertain. 

 

“Do me a favor, Matt. Fulfill the dying wish of a bitter king.” 

 

Matt froze, nodding very slowly. “Of course, Your Majesty. What can I do for you?”

 

The king was still, silent, for a few seconds before he raised his hand, pointing a skeletal finger in Keith’s direction. Keith’s arm fell of its own accord, his feet taking a stumbling step backward.

 

The king sighed, very soft, as if he was finally pleased things were going his way. “Take care of him, Matt. Kill him. Standard protocol, in three days time. And if I’m still alive, I want to be there.” With that, Alfor lowered his trembling hand and slid his eyelids shut, the barest of smiles ghosted across his lips. 

 

“Yes, You Majesty,” Matt answered stiffly when it became clear that the king was done, turning around to stare at Keith. Keith didn’t meet his eyes, simply set the cure on the king’s bedside table and held his arms out for Matt to take. There was no point in fighting. He’d made his decision, and the king had made his, and now it was time for both of them to face the consequences. 

 

Matt only continued to look at him, a strange look in his eyes, his face twisted up like he was at war with himself over something—Keith figured he could probably guess what it was. He shook his outstretched arms a little, drawing Matt’s attention down to them. Even then, he refused to take them for a few seconds before a noise from the king behind him seemed to shake him from his stupor, causing him to reach out and take Keith gently by the arms, leading him out of the room. 


	12. If only

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance’s world had crashed down around him only three times in his life.

Lance’s world had crashed down around him only three times in his life. 

 

The first was when his mother died. He’d spent weeks by himself, locked in his room and hidden away in desolate castle alcoves, mulling over what had happened in his head and imagining what he’d feel like if things had gone differently, wishing and wishing and wishing he could carve the heavy sadness from his heart and leave it behind. He hadn’t let anyone speak to him, not Coran or Hunk or Pidge, and had only let himself be seen when it was required for him to secure a meal. 

 

He had been unable to keep from blaming himself for what had happened, even though some part of him knew there was nothing he could have done. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t keep his focus for longer than a few minutes, couldn’t feel anything but devastatingly numb. His throat was always sore from the screaming that occurred when he  _ did  _ manage to get some rest, and his head always hurt from the tears, and he had felt as if he could sleep for a million years and never wake up. 

 

It had taken a combined effort from Pidge, Allura, Hunk and Kolivan to pull him out of his funk, and he’d foolishly believed that once it was gone it would never be repeated. 

 

The second time was when he’d found out that his father was sick with an illness that could only be healed by a potion from a witch. Lance had known immediately that even if they were to find a witch that would be willing to make the cure, his father would never accept it. He was too proud a man to allow something like that. 

 

It felt almost strange to him to be upset over the thought of losing someone that hadn’t been close to him in years, but he still cared for his father like he had when he was younger—still yearned for his approval and his attention, his acceptance and his praise. If his father died now, he’d never have the chance to prove to him that he could be worth something, would never be able to sit down with him and have a conversation like they used to. If his father died now, they’d never be able to make up for lost time, would never be able to strengthen their relationship to bring it back to what it used to be. It would be almost as if his father had died right alongside his mother with the way things had gone. 

 

Lance supposed he didn’t miss his father so much as he missed who his father used to be, but he still wanted the chance to change that. He wanted to have the time to make it different, and it was looking more and more likely that he never would. 

 

The way he’d felt then was a mere echo of what he’d felt before for his mother, but it was enough to pull him under, enough to numb his heart and paint dark bags under his eyes, enough to drag his limbs towards the ground every time he managed to pull himself out of bed. Keith had obviously noticed, and he knew the others were watching him, monitoring him. If this time was anything like it’d been before, they were aware that he’d need their help to shake himself out of it again, that he’d need their help to push the grief out of his head and become himself once more. 

 

Things had been going incredibly well for him recently and he was upset that he couldn’t seem to catch a break, that something was going wrong again so soon and  that he felt so emptied out and hollow.

 

Since the announcement, Lance had been attending the meetings of his father’s court, and had been present when it was decided that, in light of the traveling doctor’s diagnosis for the king, Allura should be crowned Queen of the Altean Empire as quickly as she could be. The news landed like another blow to his chest, a reminder that he offered nothing to this kingdom but another mouth to feed, but he’d been unable to pay his hurt feelings the proper amount of attention when he’d glanced up and seen the look on Allura’s face. 

 

Allura was only twenty-one. She’d only been training with their father for a little over a year, and there was still much about ruling that she didn’t know. To ask her to lead a kingdom with which she was hardly familiar was understandably horrifying, for her especially. Coran and the other members of his father’s court would be able to give her as much assistance as she needed, but it was still a huge undertaking for her. However, if there was anyone Lance knew that could do what the situation was requiring of her, it was Allura. She’d always been a fast learner, a quick study, determined and diligent with every task she set out to do. The empire couldn’t possibly be in better hands. 

 

“Allura.” He had caught up with her after the last meeting, the one where they’d decided her coronation would be in a few days—just a small, formal event for castle-dwellers only. The public didn’t need to know what was happening quite yet. “Do you want to talk about anything?”

 

Allura had looked at him, tears swelling and clinging to her eyelashes, her bottom lip wobbling dangerously. “I can’t be the queen, Lance. I don’t know how.” Her voice was a rough whisper, raw and low and weak. Lance shook his head obstinately. 

 

“You know the basics, all the most important bits. The rest are things that father’s men can easily teach you, which you’ll pick up like a breeze. You know how easy it is for you to learn things, especially when you’re able to practice them in routine. And you’ve still got me, and Hunk, and Shiro and Pidge and Coran, and all of us can help if things get to be too much. But I  _ know  _ you’re capable of this, Allura. I know you are.”

 

She had looked down at the ground, fat tears dripping off her cheeks and falling to the floor. “It wasn’t supposed to be my responsibility yet. I was supposed to have more time.  _ He _ was supposed to have more time.” Lance had simply stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her in what he hoped served as a grounding hug. 

 

“I know, Allura,” he murmured, feeling almost guilty for his words since he knew she had always been closer to their father than he was. “But there’s nothing we can do now. You know what he’s like. All we can do is try and prepare for what comes next.”

 

And so she had nodded and stepped away from him, drying her eyes with her sleeves before sending him a grateful smile and floating back to her room. 

 

The third time found Lance a few days later in the middle of Allura’s coronation reception, his wide eyes locked onto Matt’s face, his body stiff and his lungs refusing to breathe as he struggled to understand what he’d just heard.

 

“Could you… Could you say that one more time, please?” Lance asked weakly, his knees feeling as if they would buckle under his weight at any second. Matt looked at him sympathetically, seeming as if the news pained him as much as it pained Lance. That was, of course, impossible, but he appreciated the sentiment. 

 

“Keith made the potion rumored to cure your father, and your father refused it and sentenced him to death. He’s currently being held in the dungeons, where he’ll stay for three days until his public execution.”

 

“And you’re sure he made it, and—and didn’t just, get it from somewhere?” 

 

Matt shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “He used the exact words, ‘I made it’. Besides, you know what the king is like, especially regarding this topic. His word is law, on his deathbed or otherwise. And... you didn’t see him, Lance. I’ve never seen Keith look so…  _ resigned,  _ like he’d completely given up. He didn’t even try to fight it. It was scary.”

 

Lance shuttered, his mind unhelpfully providing him with image after image of Keith's face, stoic and empty, his eyes accepting as he held out a gift that his father would never take. It made him unreasonably angry, at his father, at himself, at Keith, because why couldn’t anything ever just be easy? Why couldn’t people make decisions that were obviously the right ones, outside of their pride and their emotions and their disposition?

 

“I need to get back and guard the cell,” Matt said quietly, shifting awkwardly. Lance’s eyes sharpened, his attention snapping back to the present. 

 

“Let me see him.” 

 

Matt dropped his eyes, his shoulders stiffening. “You know I’m not supposed to, Lance. Alfor’s already instructed that I keep my eye on you and make sure you don’t interfere... I guess he found out about you guys or something. Besides, the prince is never supposed to fraternize with the prisoners.”

 

“I’m not  _ fraternizing, _ ” Lance hissed, loosely clenching his fists at his sides. “We’ve been dating for three years! Just let me see him, Matt. This may be the last time I ever get to.” He hadn’t meant for his voice to crack but there it was, revealing his vulnerability to anyone who cared to listen. Lance had to see Keith again, no matter what happened after that. 

 

Matt sighed, his face crumpling. “Fine. But only for a little while, then you have to leave again and I’m not letting you back in.”

 

Lance didn’t answer as he followed Matt from the party, already lost in thought. His boyfriend was a witch. He had never mentioned it, never hinted at it, never given him a clue. He’d never written it down, never mouthed it at him, never whispered it against his ear in the dead of night when there was no one around but the two of them. Lance had absolutely no idea, and now Keith was going to die because of it. How had this happened?

 

He knew the answer, of course. He didn’t want to blame his father, but it was his fault, wasn’t it? He was the reason so many witches had died at his hand, and he was the reason Keith had been afraid to let him know about such an essential part of himself. He was the reason Lance had been a shell of himself lately, the reason Keith felt like he needed to risk his own life to save his. And it was his father’s fault that he hadn’t accepted Keith’s selfless deed and had not only secured his own death but secured Keith’s as well. How could he contemplate this situation and place the blame anywhere else?

 

Not to mention that if what Matt said was true and the king really knew about the relationship between the two of them, then his order was not only unnecessary but cruel. Alfor had never been a good enough father to justify that decision. 

 

Keith being a witch wasn’t much of a surprise, though. Sure, the idea had never really crossed Lance’s mind before, but it explained quite a few things about the way Keith behaved. He was always so secretive, always muttering quiet words under his breath and always able to somehow procure the things Lance offhandedly talked about having. He could always open heavy doors and pull particularly stubborn arrows from the ground during crossbow practice, even though he didn’t appear that much more physically strong than Lance. Keith had always just been able to do things that were slightly outside of rational possibility, and now that Lance thought about it, it made a lot of sense. 

 

Lance didn’t mind that he was a witch, either. He wasn’t his father. He didn’t judge a person’s merit based on what they could or couldn’t do regarding magic. Keith had never given him reason to believe he was bad or evil or dangerous so Lance would never treat him as such, witch or otherwise. 

 

What Keith had done, however, was a stupid, stupid mistake. Lance refused to believe that Keith was unaware of his father’s opinion on witches, of his father’s maddening stubbornness which was almost as immovable as Keith’s own. He had to have known that his father would never accept the cure. So why had he done it? Was he  _ trying  _ to die? Or was it simply because he thought it was what Lance would have wanted, would’ve preferred? Didn’t he know that Lance would choose him over his father every single time he was faced with the decision?

 

With every step closer to the dungeons, the icy fear grew heavier and heavier and settled deep in his gut. One thing was certain: Keith didn’t deserve to die. Lance wanted to save him, wanted to get him out, but he didn’t have the faintest idea of where to start. Matt had already said he wouldn’t let him come back, and he couldn’t very well make a plan if Keith wasn’t in on it. He hated the thought of Keith sitting in fear for three days before dying without anything being done, hated the idea of just sitting there and watching it happen while being powerless to stop it, but what could he do? The orders of a pointless prince in love would never outweigh the wish of a dying king. 

 

Lance had never been in the dungeons before. It was a half-floor lower than the basement, dank and dark and musty smelling, cool and full of moisture. They’d never really had any prisoners locked away here, but the cells were still dirty and grimy as if someone had been rotting away inside. There was moss and shimmering water on the stones walls, dimly lit by the torches evenly spaced along the halls—torches which provided little buffer against the biting cold. And Keith would be stuck down here for three days. 

 

Lance was scowling by the time they made it to Keith’s cell, located in what appeared to be the very center of the sector. Lance knew that the dungeons went much deeper, spread out like a labyrinth beneath the castle, but they had placed Keith in the first hall, easily accessible from the outside. 

 

Matt allowed Lance to pass by him but followed all the way to the bars of Keith’s cell, where Keith raised his eyes to look up at him from where he was seated in the floor but said nothing. 

 

“Let me in,” he instructed, gesturing to the lock on the door. Matt hesitated, his hand hovering in the air. 

 

“Lance, I don’t think—”

 

Lance growled lightly in the back of his throat, narrowing his eyes. “He’s not dangerous, Matt. Let me in.” Matt sighed heavily but complied, unlocking the door and cracking it open just wide enough to let Lance through as if Keith would attempt to escape. Fucking ridiculous. Lance slipped inside the cell and crouched in front of Keith, touching his fingertips to his cheek very gently. He waited a few seconds before he said something, seeing if Matt would leave on his own or if he’d have to be encouraged. When Matt remained silent behind him, he didn’t hesitate to speak. “Can we have a moment, please?”

 

“Lance—” 

 

Lance didn’t wait any longer before cutting him off, uninterested in what he had to say. He was quickly losing his patience with him. Surely Matt understood that this entire situation was unfair, that Lance just wanted a moment of privacy with his boyfriend before he possibly lost him forever. “Get the hell out, Matt.” 

 

There was another moment of silence before footsteps echoed off the stone, growing softer with every one until they disappeared completely. 

 

When they were finally alone, Lance sat with his legs crossed in front of Keith and patted his thighs, motioning him forward. “C’mere.” Keith didn’t hesitate before he crawled into his lap, immediately burying his face in Lance’s neck and wrapping his arms around his back.

 

“What the hell were you thinking, babe?” Lance asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He looped his arms around Keith’s waist and held him tightly against his chest, breathing in the fresh saltiness of his scent. 

 

“I wanted to make you happy,” Keith mumbled softly, his demeanor reminiscent of a child being scolded. 

 

“Beautiful idiot,” Lance muttered back. “Don’t you know you mean more to me than my crusty old man? Don’t you understand that I’d choose you over him every time? I’m sad that he’s dying, and I wish our relationship was different, but I’d never give up a life with you to fix it.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Keith answered, sounding on the verge of tears. “I thought it was what you wanted.” 

 

Lance tightened his grip further, rocking them back and forth slightly. “I want  _ you,  _ Keith. That’s it.”

 

Keith paused, sniffling. “You’re not mad?”

 

Lance scoffed lightly. “Of course I’m not mad. What would I have to be mad about?”

 

“The fact that I did all this without talking to you first? That I’m a witch? The fact that I never told you I was?”

 

“I’m not  _ happy  _ that you did this without talking it over with me, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not mad. We’ve just gotta put a little extra work into our future, is all. And—I’m not my father, Keith. I’m not mad that you’re a witch or that you didn’t tell me; I absolutely understand why you never did and I think the whole witch thing is kind of cool, actually. Is that why you glow kinda purple in the dark? Because you’re a witch?”

 

Keith stilled between his arms, his breath against Lance’s skin all but disappearing. “What do you mean?”

 

“Sometimes when I wake up and it’s real late at night, I’ll look over at you and if I focus real hard, I can see a faint purple glow surrounding your body. It makes you pretty easy to locate if I can’t find you.”

 

“You’re not supposed to know about that,” Keith muttered lowly.

 

“Know about what?”

 

Keith sighed, his body sagging heavily onto Lance’s. “A witch is tightly tied to their magic, and their magic is tightly tied to their emotions. Every witch’s magic has a residual scent and color, and when a witch feels a certain way, their magic reacts. My magic is purple because it’s a mixture of our favorite colors, and when witches are happy, they’ve been known to glow. I’m not sure how you can see it, though, because it’s only supposed to be visible to those who are able to use magic themselves.”

 

Lance grinned, running his fingers lightly over the plane of Keith’s back. He loved it when Keith went into his explanation mode; he always sounded so mature and intelligent. “Aww, that’s cute. I’m glad I can see it, however that works. It also means I’ll always win when we play hide and go seek in the dark.”

 

Keith let out a huff. “I’m pretty sure that’s called cheating.”

 

“Maybe, maybe not. Who’s to say?” 

 

Keith huffed again and tried to pull away from Lance’s embrace but Lance simply held him tighter, refusing to let go until he relaxed again and stayed put. “Wait, you said something about your magic having a scent. Is that why you smell different now, too? Because of me?”

 

Lance could practically feel Keith rolling his eyes. “Yeah. It’s your favorite smell.”

 

“It is my favorite smell,” Lance affirmed wondrously. He wished they were at the ocean right now instead of sitting on the floor of a musty cell. The ocean smelled much better. “I remember the first day you started smelling like the ocean.”

 

Keith hummed softly, flexing his fingers against Lance’s shirt. “Yeah? When was that?”

 

“It was the day Pidge, Hunk and I taught you how to ride a horse then snuck out to practice riding through town and to have a little picnic on our beach. I thought it was just our location at the time, but it never went away after that.” It was a day that felt like forever ago when Lance thought back on it, but a day that in reality happened less than six months ago. Lance wished they could go back to that day, when everything was easy and simple and happy. 

 

“I remember that day,” Keith mumbled. “That was a good day.” He paused, letting out a deep breath. “What if we don’t have any more good days, Lance?”

 

“Hush,” Lance scolded lightly, bringing his fingers up to run through Keith’s hair. “I’ll figure something out, okay? I’ll get you out of this.”

 

“I’m sorry, Lance. I messed everything up, and now I’m gonna die and you won’t be able to stop it and you’ll lose two people you love and it’s all my fault.”

 

Lance shushed him, tightening his grip on the silky strands of his hair to draw his attention. “ _ Hush,  _ Keith. You don’t need to apologize, okay? My father would’ve died anyway, and I’ll figure something out for you, I promise. I refuse to let you die.”

 

“Like what?” Keith sniffed. “There’s nothing you can do.”

 

“Bullshit,” Lance said. “I’m the fucking prince. I can talk to Allura and have her pardon you or something.” 

 

“You know she has no power over your father’s demands, queen or not.”

 

“Then I’ll rescue you on execution day.”

 

“And what will the people think? You’re still the prince, Lance, and the citizens have had no problem with your father’s executions. What will they think if the prince of their empire goes against his father’s dying wish and saves a witch in front of everyone? And what will we do after that? Continue to live in the castle as if nothing happened?”

 

Lance didn’t reply for a moment, gritting his teeth together harshly. “I’ll figure something out.”

 

Keith sighed defeatedly, nuzzling his face into Lance’s neck. Lance held him tightly, clenching his eyes shut as he fought away the mental images of Keith being taken from him, being paraded as a criminal in front of the empire and burnt at the stake for trying to keep his father alive. Lance couldn’t let that happen; he’d sooner sacrifice himself than watch it take place with his own two eyes. 

 

“I might not be able to see you after this,” Lance said, breaking the heavy silence after several minutes of it covering them like a blanket. “Matt said he wouldn’t let me come back after I left tonight.”

 

“If you go to my room and look in the third drawer of my desk, there’re these two little lavender stones, small enough to fit in the center of your palm. If you press it against someone’s skin, it will knock them out until you touch them with it again, and it’ll erase a few minutes of their memory before and after they lost consciousness. Go get them, and you can use them to come and see me.”

 

“It’s not gonna knock me out when  _ I _ touch it, is it?” Lance asked suspiciously. Keith laughed lightly.

 

“No. It only works when it’s being touched by two different people.”

 

“It’s not fair,” Lance grumbled. “You have all this cool shit and I don’t.” 

 

Keith hummed, swirling the curly hair at the nape of Lance’s neck around his finger. “We’re dating. It can be your cool shit, too.”

 

_ “Sweet,”  _ Lance said happily, kissing the side of Keith’s head. They fell silent as the sound of footsteps returned to echo on the stone, and Lance was grateful that he was facing away from the door of the cell so he couldn’t glare at who he knew it was. He knew none of this was Matt’s fault—he was only doing his job—but Lance was still upset.

 

“It’s time for you to go,” Matt said from behind them once the footsteps had come to a stop. Keith sighed heavily, pulling back from where he was resting against Lance and sitting up straight in his lap. 

 

“I’ll be back soon, okay?” Lance murmured lowly, looking Keith in the eyes as his hands came up and cupped Keith’s face. 

 

“Okay. Love you,” Keith answered, nuzzling into Lance’s palms. Lance smiled warmly, leaning forward to slot their lips together slowly, softly, fondly. It was Lance’s favorite way to kiss Keith, as if they had all the time in the world to tangle their tongues together and run their fingertips over the expanse of their skin, as if every press of their lips was enough to express just how much they meant to each other, without ever needing anything else.

 

“Love you, too,” Lance mumbled when they pulled back, trying not to sigh in disappointment as the warmth of Keith’s body left his and he had to stand up. Matt said nothing as he opened the cell door and held it open for Lance to step out. He moved forward to lock the cell door as Keith resettled in his spot in the middle of the grimy stone floor and gazed up at them almost apathetically, although Lance knew better. 

 

“Bye, babe. See you soon,” Lance said almost bitterly as walked away, not waiting to see if Matt would follow.

 


	13. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Too young, they said.
> 
>  
> 
> Too soon, they said.
> 
>  
> 
> Too young, too soon, not enough time, not enough time, not enough fucking time, they said. He’d ruled bravely, exquisitely, flawlessly, they said. A wonderful leader, a loving husband, a caring father, they said.

_ Too young, they said. _

 

_ Too soon, they said. _

 

_ Too young, too soon, not enough time, not enough time, not enough fucking  _ time,  _ they said. He’d ruled bravely, exquisitely, flawlessly, they said. A wonderful leader, a loving husband, a caring father, they said. _

 

_ Long live the king, they said, moaned, screamed. Long live the king.  _

 

_ Lance walked through the halls and he heard them, every word they said. What did they know about his father? What did they know about his parenting, what proof did they have that any of his decisions were good ones? What did they know about missing him, about wishing he had more time? What could they possibly be feeling that Lance wasn’t already drowning in? _

 

_ Lance felt as if he was in another place entirely. He could see the halls of the castle, could hear the whispers and noises of grief from all around him, but he wasn’t there to experience any of it. He was somewhere far away, somewhere where his father wasn’t dead and his boyfriend wasn’t in jail and his life wasn’t falling apart, somewhere where his mother was still alive and everyone he loved was safe and sound and they could live together, stable and happy.  _

 

_ He knew that wherever he was wasn’t real. How could it be? He couldn’t forget where he was, couldn’t forget what was happening. There was that voice in his head that was constantly reminding him, following him around and whispering, “He’s gone. He’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone.” _

 

_ But he could pretend, couldn’t he? He could pretend, for just a second, that at least one of his parents was still living. He wasn’t old enough to be alone like this, couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that they were dead, both of them. Half of his family was dead. He could walk into his father’s bedroom whenever he wanted and there’d be no one there to stop him, because there was no longer anyone in the room to protect. He could walk every hall in the castle a million times and not once would he ever see his father occupying the same space again.  _

 

_  and Allura were alone. _

 

_ He hadn’t seen Allura since they’d been told the news. She wasn’t one to project her emotions, so she had taken herself and her grief to her chambers. Lance, however, couldn’t stand to be locked up in one place; stationary, sedentary, still. He needed to move, to keep moving, to do something with his body that he didn’t need to think about so he could lose himself in his mind. _

 

_ The others in the castle largely left him alone. He felt like a wild animal, something dangerous that was not to be provoked. It was fair; he didn’t know what he’d do, didn’t know what parts of his mind he was in control of. Everyone else was stuck in their own grief, he didn’t expect them to try and pull him out of his. _

 

_ Except, Coran didn’t seem to get the memo.  _

 

_ “Prince Lance.” Coran was standing in front of him, his hands planted firmly on his upper arms as he pushed against Lance, who was still trying to take his slow steps forward, unaware of his obstruction. It seemed as if it wasn’t the first time Coran had tried for his attention, either.  _

 

_ Lance stared back at him blankly, his eyes flicking over the tired lines of his face. The sight caused Lance to absently wondered if he looked better or worse than the man in front of him. Coran’s eyes searched him as well, and after they’d looked their fill, Coran sighed heavily and pulled Lance into a hug, holding him tightly against his chest.  _

 

_ “It’ll be okay, Lance. Everything will be okay.”  _

 

_ How could he know? Lance said nothing as he hugged him back, his grip feeling weak compared to Coran’s. His arms shook with the effort of holding on and the hug gave him a kind of comfort he forgot he was missing, and before he could stop himself he was leaking tears onto the fabric of Coran’s shirt, his shoulders shuddering as he struggled to pull air into his lungs. Coran was a pillar of support until the tears stopped, Lance’s eyes red and his breathing ragged as he pulled back to look him in the face. Coran’s own eyes were rimmed with red, his features twisted and hopeless in a way that did nothing but fill Lance with even more trepidation.  _

 

_ “How is everyone?” Lance finally thought to ask, his voice ragged and full of holes. He’d spent the whole day lost in a world of his own creation, completely disconnected from the people that he was supposed to be a role model for. Perhaps his father was right when he said Lance would be better off never ruling.  _

 

_ “No one blames you, Lance,” Coran said instead of answering, as if he could read his thoughts. It was much more likely that his thoughts were simply painted across his face, him being too emotionally exhausted to put his usual shield in place. “They understand. You have no obligation to them right now.” Oh yes, he forgot. Allura was the successor, not him. _

 

_ “How is everyone?” he asked again, blinking back another round of warm, salty tears. Coran sighed again and rubbed Lance’s shirt with his thumbs where he had returned his grip to his upper arms.  _

 

_ “They’re sad, Lance. We all miss your father dearly.”  _

 

_ None of them knew his father like he had. None of them had such a deep conflict of emotions, torn between mourning and indifference. How could he miss a man that had made him feel less-than for over half of his life, and how could he be apathetic towards a man that had made him, raised him, taught him almost everything he knew? How the hell was he supposed to feel? What was he supposed to think? Which emotion was he supposed to let take control? “The court and I talked it over, and we decided it would be best for the funeral to take place the day after, uh, Keith’s execution.” _

 

_ Lance nodded dazedly, the words going in one ear and out the other as he felt his focus slipping away again. It was too much, too much, too much. Too young, too soon, not enough. Lance raised his hand and cupped Coran’s cheek, giving his head a little shake before he let it drop and turned around and walked away. Nothing but the word “Keith” stuck in Lance’s mind, and he found his feet moving towards the basement. He knew he wouldn’t be there, it was unlikely that anyone would be, but it was as close as he could get, as comforting as he could manage at the moment.  _

 

_ What he really needed was a hug from his boyfriend, but he was unreachable behind the bars of a cell and several persistent human bodies. He was the first person Lance tried to talk to once he found out the news, but Matt’s declare that he wouldn’t be allowed back in was apparently unwavering, even in circumstances such as these.  _

 

_ The basement still made Lance think of Keith, though, and if he closed his eyes and focused really hard he could even imagine that it smelled like Keith a little, just enough to be detectable since he spent all his time down there.  _

 

_ The birdbath, in particular, reminded Lance of him. It made him think of their first true interaction, the first time Lance was completely enamored with him and certainly not the last. He walked up to the bath in a daze, watching the water ripple and dance in a way that seemed far too peaceful for the events that had taken place. The water in the birdbath was flexible, fragile and vulnerable. It needed something more solid, something to offer support that the water itself couldn’t give. Lance knew just the thing.  _

 

_ He wound his way through the desolate halls and into the courtyard, stooping down to scoop up the first little pebble he found. He pressed his thumb against its smooth surface, hard, and was pleased with the way the rock refused to bend, refused to give, refused to be molded. Just what the water needed.  _

 

_ He carried the pebble back cupped loosely in his palm and watched the ripples on the surface of the water as he dropped it inside with a gentle splash. It was not nearly enough. _

 

_ By the time Coran found him and convinced him it was time for bed, the birdbath was filled to the brim with rocks.  _

 


	14. could

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What the hell is this, Pidge?” He knew what most of it was, a simple address to the public to update them on castle affairs that would be otherwise unknown, but he trusted her to understood what he meant. It was too damn early for this.

 

It took Lance a few seconds to pry his eyes open, since they were swollen and sore from tears and too little sleep. Pidge stood over his bed, waving a scroll in front of his face with much less enthusiasm than usual. He didn’t have the slightest idea what was on the scroll, but he snatched it from her anyway, rubbing his eyes as he sat up in bed. 

 

Lance immediately recognized Hunk’s handwriting as he unfurled it, so he knew that whatever he was reading had originated from Allura, since it was always Hunk’s job to transcribe it. It wasn’t until he read the first line that he truly knew what it was, that he felt stupid for not having realized it sooner.

 

_ To the citizens of the Altean Empire, _

_ It is with unimaginable grief that I bring to you the news of our beloved King Alfor II and his untimely passing. Our dearest king was taken early yesterday morning by an unidentified illness, despite the efforts put forth to preserve his life. King Alfor II ruled for many years, a great majority of his life, and he kept our empire safe. He led us away from war and towards a future of peace and prosperity, ensuring that our people had a future that was stable and secure. His memory will live on in the heart of our kingdom for all eternity.  _

_ King Alfor II accepted the empire from his father, the late King Alfor I, at the stunning age of eighteen, and it is with great honor that I, former princess and newly coronated Queen Allura of Altea, accept the empire in the wake of my father’s absence. The official coronation ceremony has already taken place, as my father wanted to be sure he could attend to see the empire place into good hands, but the public celebration will be held in three days time, immediately following King Alfor’s royal funeral.  _

_ It is now my duty to protect and lead the people of Altea as my ancestors have done, and to make decisions that I believe make Altea a safer and more welcoming environment for those within it. There is nothing more important than strong bonds with neighbors so that we may keep war at bay, and so that we no longer have to spend our days living in fear. It is something that my father valued, and it is something I plan to take to the next level, to ensure our day to day lives stay peaceful and pleasant.  _

_ Because of this, I plan to rid our empire of certain rules and standings that I believe inhibit this strive towards peace, and my brother, Prince Lance of Altea, will henceforth act as an ambassador for our great empire. He will travel outside of our borders in order to interact with and better learn about our neighboring kingdoms, therefore strengthening our bonds to them and decreasing the likelihood of conflict. We both believe he will be better suited in this task than in any of his current duties at the castle, and so it is a status in which I am happy to grant him. _

_ Lastly, in accordance with my father’s dying wish, a public execution for a newly discovered witch will take place in the castle arena in two days time. Any citizens that wish to attend may do so, however, it will be the Altean Empire’s last public execution of any kind. _

  
  


Lance read the public address, and read it again, and then read it once more just to make sure he had it right in his scrambled head. He looked up at Pidge—who was still hovering at his side with an uncertain look on her face—and gaped at her.

 

“What the hell is this, Pidge?” He knew what most of it was, a simple address to the public to update them on castle affairs that would be otherwise unknown, but he trusted her to understood what he meant. It was too damn early for this. 

 

“Ambassador, Lance. Don’t you realize what this means?” He did not, in fact, know what it meant, not in the way Pidge was clearly expecting. He knew it meant he was being forcefully ejected from the castle, though, and he wanted to know what the fuck was up with  _ that,  _ even if he always knew it was a likely possibility for his future. Pidge huffed and shook her head at his blank look, her messy hair sliding across her face. “Come on, get up. We’re going to talk to Allura.”

 

“Where is she?” he asked as he slid out of bed, taking a moment to stretch his sore body. He felt like a completely new person after a night of sleep, but he still stood by the fact that he hadn’t had enough of it. Pidge, not answering his question, was already in his closet by the time he stood up straight, tossing possible clothes options out onto the floor for him to pick through. It was a fairly regular routine for them, but today, right at this moment, he could care less about what he was wearing. 

 

He scooped a pair wool leggings, a long tunic, and a cape (Pidge had absolutely never agreed with Lance’s love of capes before, and he figured he must look even worse than he felt if she was willing to pull those strings) up off the floor and changed as quickly as he could, fatigue still wearing on his limbs. Pidge stood a few feet from him and tapped her foot impatiently, the two of them long past the point of caring if they changed in front of the other, glaring at him the longer it took for his transformation to be complete. 

 

As soon as his cape was tied securely around his neck Pidge grabbed his hand and pulled him out the door, but not before snatching the fallen scroll from the surface of Lance’s bed and handing it back to him.

 

“Good morning, Rolo, Nyma,” Lance said as he was paraded past them, tipping his head clumsily. They gave him soft smiles in return, the gleam of their silver armor looking especially bright this morning—as if they’d had nothing to do yesterday but sit there and clean it. Lance shivered and looked away, down towards the scroll in his fist. 

 

He still didn’t understand. 

 

It was only after a few twists and turns through the halls that Lance realized where Pidge was taking him, and he frowned. It must be serious if they were headed to the map room; Shiro didn’t normally like people in his space if it wasn’t urgent. Since when was this urgent?

 

Lance had so many questions.

 

“Pidge, what’s going on?” Lance asked, tugging lightly on the arm that was leading him. Something ugly was beginning to churn in his stomach, some undignified fear that told him he was about to hear a lot of things he didn’t want to hear. 

 

“We’re going to talk to Allura,” she said plainly, increasing her pace. They were there before Lance knew it, before he had time to prepare himself. He could feel his hands shaking, the parchment clutched in his fist fluttering as a twin to his pulse. God, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this nervous. 

 

When they stepped inside, the first thing Lance noticed was that everyone was here. And by everyone he meant  _ everyone:  _ Kolivan, Shiro, Coran, Allura, her guards, Hunk, Pidge, and Lance’s own guards that had apparently followed him in. Everyone he loved, everyone he cared about—except for his father, who was fucking dead, and his boyfriend, who was sitting behind the walls of a cell. All of them here, standing in one room, about to break the news that they thought it was best of he wasn’t around anymore. Didn’t they realize how overwhelming this was going to be? Didn’t they realize that the letter was enough of a hint? They didn’t need to tell him to his  _ face.  _

 

“What is this?” Lance asked Allura when it became obvious they were all waiting for him to speak. He raised the crumpled scroll in his fist, making sure there was no confusion as he stood in the middle of the room and trembled. He felt on edge, the people in the room forming a spread out circle around where he stood. He felt trapped, nervous, desperate to ignore the part of his brain that was telling him he couldn’t escape. 

 

“You know what it is,” Allura said, as calm as the queen she now was. Remembering was like a punch to his gut; she was the kingdom’s future, and he was simply their family’s extra piece. 

 

“Yes, I know what it is. That’s not what I’m asking.” Lance couldn’t tell if he was more scared or more angry, couldn’t tell if he was more terrified at the thought of being told to go or more outraged that Allura was apparently making decisions for him now. It was too fucking  _ early _ for this. “I don’t—I don’t understand where you’re going with this. What do you mean I’m  _ leaving?  _ And how can you just announce to the entire kingdom that we’re not gonna be killing people anymore? What do you imagine the people are gonna think about that? Don’t you understand that that’s why our father is  _ dead?  _ Don’t you know that’s why my boyfriend is currently in  _ jail?” _

 

“Yes,” Allura said. He didn’t know what question she was answering, if it was just one or all of them. “I know what our kingdom has accepted, Lance. I’m aware of the conditions of our father’s passing, and I’m aware of the sacrifice Keith made. That’s why I’m willing to make one, as well. And I’m hoping you are, too.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Lance asked, feeling like his blood was running sluggishly in his veins, all backed up and slow. 

 

“The scroll,” Shiro said, taking over. “The part about you leaving, becoming an ambassador for the empire. It’s a plan. The tail end of one, really.”

 

“A plan for what?” Everyone looked calm except for Lance, and he could feel so many pairs of eyes on him that it made his skin crawl. He didn’t understand. Why were they expecting him to read between the lines? He wasn’t his fucking boyfriend, he couldn’t read their minds. Actually, he wasn’t sure if Keith could read minds or not. He’d have to ask later. 

 

“A plan for saving Keith,” Shiro clarified. “Allura and I were discussing it yesterday and, while, of course, the logistics for actually rescuing him will be a bit more involved—we’ll be discussing those shortly—you do realize that he won’t be able to stay here, right? After you save him, he can no longer safely exist within the walls of our empire. Not permanently, not constantly. He can’t live here. So, the two of you, assuming you want to stay with him and avoid being separated, will need somewhere to go.”

 

“So,” Allura said, cutting in, “you’ll be an official ambassador of the empire. You’ll be able to travel, see the world, go beyond our borders safely and with a task, a way to focus your energy. And Keith, as—let’s say, your official ambassador boyfriend—will be able to go with you, to places where he’s not at risk of persecution. It’s more accepting beyond our walls, and while I work to change that and bring equality to our soil, the least the two of you can do is be somewhere safe. The only thing I ask is that you visit on occasion, and that tread very carefully when in the Galran Empire.”

 

“The other kingdoms are really quite magnificent!” Coran added, his tone cheery and unforced. “Your father and I took a tour of them, long ago, back when he first took over the empire. I’m sure they’ve only grown more lovely with time! I think you’ll quite like them.” 

 

“And,” Pidge said, speaking up for the first time since their entrance, “it gets even better. I’m going with you.”

 

“And me,” Hunk said from where he was standing beside Allura, giving Lance a reassuring smile. 

 

“We’re going, too,” Nyma said from behind him, causing his head to whip around so he could stare at them. He gaped, his eyes wide. 

 

“I—I can’t—what? I can’t ask you guys to do that! You have lives here!” Lance spun to face Pidge again. “Pidge, what about your brother? You can’t just leave him here! And Hunk, you have Shay, and Nyma and Rolo, your families… You can’t possibly come with me.” Lance shook his head, taking a step back. Him and Keith leaving, that made sense. That calmed about half of Lance’s nerves, actually. But for his friends to come? What reason could they possibly have for  _ that? _

 

“You’re not asking, we’re telling,” Pidge said, her hand coming up to rest on his arm. “Lance, look at me. We know that you’ll miss this place and the people in it when you leave, so we thought it would be best to, you know, send some of it with you. We have lives here, yes, but so do you. So, we’re willing to go on this adventure if you are. We’ll still come and visit the people we’re leaving behind, but—it’s silly for us to stay. For me, home is not a place, it’s a people, and you’re a part of that. The castle wouldn’t feel like home without you here.”

 

Lance’s jaw worked as he processed what he was hearing, the exact opposite of what he’d expected when he first walked in the room. “You’d give up everything—everything you’ve built, everything you’ve worked for, everything you’ve been given—for me? For  _ Keith?” _

 

Pidge snorted. “To be fair, I don’t have much to give up. But yeah, it’s a risk I’m willing to take. I love you, and I love Keith, and I’d miss you guys too much if I just let you leave. Matt has a job here, a place here, and he’s happy with that. And I’m happy, knowing that he’s safe and content and taken care of. But for me? I wouldn’t mind seeing what the world has to offer. Not to mention, what would I even do around here without you? I’d be jobless.”

 

Lance stared at her. She had a good point about the job part, but Lance was positive she could find something to do if she really wanted to. Why was she so ready to just… give up?

 

“I’m not gonna watch you leave and sail away into the sunset, Lance,” Hunk said when Lance failed to reply. “You’re my best friend. Of  _ course  _ I’m coming with you.” He took a step in Lance’s direction, catching his attention. When Lance looked at him, the gleam in his eyes was nothing but honest, earnest.

 

“You and Keith deserve to be somewhere where you can just relax and have fun and be together. You’ve had a rough couple of existences, it’s about time for this high-stress shit to be over,” Rolo commented from Lance’s shoulder, having stepped close enough to rest his hand on it. Nyma was there as well, wrapping her arms around his midsection, pulling him into a fierce hug. 

 

“We just want you to be happy.  _ I  _ want you to be happy, Lance. And we all believe this is your best chance,” Allura said. 

 

“Are you gonna be okay without me?” Lance asked, raising his eyes from where they had dropped to the ground and catching her gaze. His question ran deeper than the other people in the room probably knew.  _ Are you going to be able to handle being in the castle alone? Are you okay with the fact that I won’t be here to support you if ruling the kingdom gets to be too much? Will you be able to go months at a time without seeing me? _

 

Allura smiled back at him, her eyes lighting up. “I’ll be okay, Lance. I’ll still have Coran and Shiro and Kolivan to keep me company. It’s not like we’ll never see each other again.”

 

They really meant it, then. They were all serious about this. Lance struggled to wrap his mind around it, the silence stretching out in the empty space he failed to know how to fill. 

 

He’d be saying goodbye to everything, asking his friends to do the same thing, leaving the only place he’d ever called home to explore the rest of the world that he never thought he’d get to see. He’d be safe, free to love his boyfriend the way he wanted, free from the prejudice of his people but so,  _ so  _ far away from home. He’d be able to write letters home, but Allura would never be able to write back, never sure of where he would be. She would have no choice but to rely on his promise to come back home someday.

 

The silence was broken after a few long moments by Hunk. “Group hug!” he called, and suddenly everyone was crowding around him, wrapping their arms around any part of him they could reach. Hunk knew him too well, always knew what he needed before Lance knew himself. It kind of made him miss Keith, though.    

 

Lance let out a startled laugh, wrapping himself around what he could. He was almost worried about Pidge, since she had been the closest and first to hug him and was now buried under at least three other bodies. He could feel the press of cold metal against his skin, warring with the larger amount of body heat enveloping him. He felt like he was suffocating, but in a good way. He felt smothered in attention, in love, in support and understanding and compassion. 

 

In just a few days, he and his friends and Keith would be safe, sailing away from their home to explore the world that spilled out for miles and miles around them. 

 

“Wait,” Lance said, inhaling several strands of someone’s hair as he raised his head and looked at the wall behind the mass of bodies surrounding him. “Do any of us know how to sail?” 

 

That would certainly put a significant damper on their plans, none of them knowing how to sail a fucking boat. 

 

Pidge let out a laugh, her face shoved somewhere in Lance’s chest. “Yes, Lance. I know how to sail. In fact, from this point on, refer to me only as Captain Pidge.”

 

Lance snorted, shaking his head. “I am  _ not _ calling you Captain Pidge until we’re firmly lodged on that boat.”

 

“So ungrateful,” Pidge responded, her voice muffled by Lance’s shirt.

 

“Are we done with the hug yet?” Kolivan asked, his voice close enough to vibrate Lance’s chest. He was somewhere to Lance’s left, but where exactly he couldn’t tell. “I believe we still have plans to discuss.”

 

Shiro was the first to pull away, grinning wryly. “He’s right,” Shiro affirmed as everyone else gave him his space back, moving to form a loose circle that included him this time instead of trapping him in the middle. Shiro stood directly across from him, Kolivan and Allura on either side of him. They all looked somber, far more than usual, but Lance wasn’t quite so put off by it this time. Figuring out how to truly rescue Keith was serious business, and he had nothing but gratitude for the fact that they were treating it as such, that everyone in the room considered it just as important as he did. 

 

“Keith won’t have his magic to help,” Kolivan said in a somewhat blunt start, his arms crossed over his chest as he dove right in. “As is standard procedure with every witch burning, he will be wearing a pair of dampening cuffs. Until you can get those cuffs off, it will be entirely up to you to protect the both of you from whatever opposing force you encounter.”

 

“For the sake of appearances, it’s understandably beyond my ability to simply command my men to not fight back,” Shiro stepped in after a nod from Kolivan. “However, it is  _ within _ my ability to prepare you for when they do. Your crossbow has been taken and destroyed, I’m afraid, in accordance with orders from your father, but I have something else you can use.”

 

With that, Shiro stepped away from the circle and walked to the back of the room, shuffling around behind a decorative curtain before he grabbed what he was looking for, smoothed the dust off its surface, and turned back to them.

 

Lance didn’t get a good look until Shiro had returned to his empty place in the circle since there were people in his way, but once he did, he couldn’t help but let out a small yelp. 

 

It was a fucking  _ rifle. _

 

Shiro gave him an amused look as he continued across the circle and held the rifle out to him, metal arm gleaming in the morning light pouring through the window. 

 

Lance took it gingerly, hurriedly pointing the muzzle towards the ground. “What the fuck, Shiro?” he couldn’t help but ask as Shiro stepped away, his hands now empty. “This isn’t anything like a crossbow!”

 

“Sure it is,” Shiro grinned, not bothering to hide his amusement now. “It’s just louder, has more of a kick. Oh, and you can’t reuse ammunition, but... I’m sure you’ll get used to it.” 

 

Lance gaped at him, testing the weight of the smooth weapon in his hands. It felt different, more solid, the weight denser rather than spread out. The metal detailing was cold against his fingertips, and it made a shiver run down his spine. They were really expecting him to be able to use this to save Keith. “And you guys are… what? Expecting me to use this? Expecting me to just... shoot people?”

 

Shiro shook his head firmly. “I’m not expecting you to just shoot people, Lance. I’m expecting you to defend yourself. I know my men well. Most of them are assholes who don’t know how to do anything outside of following orders, a bunch of tools that don’t know how to think for themselves. None of them take real risks. They don’t know what it means to be in danger standing up for something they believe is right. I think it would do them good to watch you do exactly that.”

 

“But what if I hurt them? What if I  _ kill  _ them?”

 

When Lance looked around the circle, everyone’s faces were grim. The thought hadn’t escaped them either, then. 

 

“Don’t aim anywhere vital,” was Shiro’s only response. 

 

“So what’s the plan, then?” 

 

“Tonight you’ll take your rifle, a cloak, and as many other things as you think you need to hide your identity and stow them in the royal viewing box at the arena,” Allura explained. “You’ll have to be there tomorrow as they lead him out; it will be important that as many people see you as possible. But once everything has settled down, you’ll be able to ready yourself and sneak onto the arena floor and rescue him.”

 

“That’s it?” Lance arched a brow. “That’s as detailed as it gets?”

 

Allura scowled at him, not completely serious. “We did all the rest of the work, Lance. I think you can handle it from here.”

 

“Oh, sure,” Lance drawled. “Leave the life-threatening part to me.” 

 

Allura smiled, a warm look in her eyes that Lance hadn’t seen in what felt like forever. “Good luck, Lance. The rest of us will do what we can.”

 

“Thank you,” Lance said, suddenly feeling choked, his tears returning for what had to be the millionth time over the past couple of days. “Thank you guys for helping me.”

 

“You’re welcome, Lance—” Allura started to say before she was cut off by Hunk yelling “Group hug part two!” and everyone rushing forward again with a laugh, embracing Lance impossibly tighter than they had the last time.

 

“I am holding a  _ gun,”  _ Lance said in disbelief, gaping at the people surrounding him and clutching the weapon as close to his chest as he could.

 

“It’s okay, it’s not loaded,” Shiro assured him, his voice muffled in Lance’s shoulder. Lance shook his head in exasperation before letting the gun drop to the floor and wrapping his arms around his friends and family, holding them close. 

 

Lance wasn’t sure how long they stayed there, talking quietly amongst themselves in a huddle before Shiro finally pushed him out of the hug and out the door, urging him to familiarize himself with his new weapon. 

 

Lance stopped in the hall a few steps from the doorway and looked down at the rifle in his hands with a huff, furrowing his brow. Instead of heading towards the arena like Lance figured most of the people in that room had expected, Lance headed in a different direction entirely, weaving through the halls until he had stopped in front of Keith’s door. 

 

After everything that had happened over the past two days, he really just needed to see his boyfriend.

 

He leaned the rifle against the wall outside his door and stepped inside, taking a second to look around the poorly lit room. Lance had only been in Keith’s room a few times and never for very long, mostly to make out where no one would catch them. Lance had never really looked around before, had never really stopped to consider the fact that Keith’s room was bleak and bland and covered in dust. 

 

It wasn’t like Keith never spent any time in here, even though Lance’s room was plenty big for the both of them. If Keith wasn’t with Kolivan or Lance, it was pretty safe to assume he was in his room, which was empty and undecorated and looked practically unlived in. Lance thought back to all the things that Keith owned that were littered throughout his own room and wondered why Keith’s didn’t look the same, wondered if Keith felt more comfortable there than he did here or if it was just because Lance had mentioned once that he liked to see pieces of Keith even if he himself couldn’t be there. 

 

Lance would admit, Keith didn’t really seem like the type to be too keen to leave his mark on a space, no matter how small, but it still shocked him, seeing the barren room that Keith called home. 

 

He turned away from the bare floors and towards Keith’s desk, going to the third drawer that Keith had told him about and digging through the crumpled parchment and miscellaneous items dumped inside until he found two small, lavender stones, near perfect circles and thin enough to fit in the dip of his palm. He stood once he had retrieved them, leaving Keith’s room once more and grabbing his rifle as he made his way back through the halls, down to the dungeons. 

 

Matt was posted outside the doors just as he had been since Keith was locked away, staring unwaveringly at Lance as he approached. 

 

“Can I see him?” Lance asked, already resisting the urge to clench his fists.

 

“Why do you have a gun?” Matt asked, his voice hardened by an edge that Lance had never heard from him before. 

 

“Can I see him?” Lance repeated, ignoring Matt’s question. “It’s not loaded.”

 

Matt stared at him for a few seconds before he shook his head slowly, shifting on his feet. “No, Lance. I’m not going to let you—”

 

Lance let out a frustrated huff and brought his hand up to cup Matt’s cheek, the stone making contact and causing Matt’s eyes to flutter back into his skull before his body went limp. Lance caught him and very carefully set him against the wall, taking the ring of keys from his belt before continuing past him and into the dungeons. 

 

He increased his pace the closer he got to Keith’s cell, his fingers fidgeting with the rifle clenched in his fist. His stomach was a swirling pit of anxiety from seeing Keith again and his father’s death and the plan for them to save him, their expectation for Lance to use a gun and hurt people. 

 

He really, really didn’t want to hurt people, let alone members of his own royal guard. 

 

Keith looked up as Lance stopped in front of his cell, unlocking the door with unsteady fingers. They didn’t speak, Lance stooping to drop his possession carefully on the ground and Keith rising on his knees to pull Lance into his arms, holding him tightly. Keith didn’t ask if Lance had used the stones, didn’t ask where he’d been the day before, why he was just now coming to visit again. He didn’t ask why he had a rifle, didn’t ask why Lance looked on the brink of tears. He just held him in silence, rocking them back and forth.

 

“Hey, baby,” Keith whispered after a long while, stroking a hand over Lance’s hair as he buried his face in Keith’s neck. It felt like the exact opposite of the last time they had seen each other in this cell, and it almost made Lance laugh. Here, held securely in Keith’s arms with the gentle scent of the ocean filling his nose, Lance was once again reminded of what had happened recently, reminded of what was at stake if things didn’t go to plan.

 

Lance had a choice to make, and it was far from a pleasant one. Did he let his boyfriend be killed for attempting to save his father, or did he rescue him and potentially kill countless others? Lance was good at aiming, knew exactly where to hit to bring someone down. He couldn’t guarantee that those instincts wouldn’t kick in during such a high-stress situation. He couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t kill every person he shot. 

 

“I heard about your dad,” Keith continued softly when Lance didn’t answer, clinging to Keith silently. This time Lance did huff a laugh, the sound muffled by Keith’s skin. His dead father was the last thing on his mind right now. 

 

“Yeah. Karma’s a bitch,” Lance said bitterly, sniffling. 

 

“Lance,” Keith said, his voice soft as he pulled back and cupped Lance’s face to hold him in place, looking into his eyes. “Talk to me. Please.”

 

Lace hesitated, searching Keith’s face for a few silent moments before he sighed, letting his eyes slip shut. “We came up with a plan,” he said, unable to hide the hint of pain and uncertainty in his voice. He wanted to save Keith, more than anything, but he knew it would be incredibly difficult for him to pay the price that would need to be paid. He wasn’t sure he could ever come back from it. “A plan to save you.”

 

Keith was quiet, likely absorbing the look on Lance’s face, the sound of his voice. It wasn’t the demeanor of  someone who was pleased, relieved. 

 

“That’s good, right?” he asked eventually, tapping his thumb on Lance’s cheekbone so he would open his eyes to look at him.

 

“Yes,” Lance said immediately, answering his silent request. When Lance opened his eyes Keith looked wary, like he wasn’t sure how to feel. “Yes, of course it’s good. I’m just… worried. Scared. Guilty, even though I haven’t done anything yet. I… It’s gonna be hard for me to do. But I’ll do it, I will. I’m not going to let you die.”

 

“What do you mean?” Keith asked softly, his eyes searching Lance’s as if all the answers were hidden within them. Maybe they were. “What are you talking about?”

 

“I have to hurt people, Keith. I have to use that rifle to defend myself, defend  _ you,  _ from the royal guard. And I know I’ll do whatever it takes to get you out of there, even if that means killing someone. But I don’t— What if I can’t do it? What if I freeze up? I’ve never  _ used  _ a gun before, and Shiro says it’s exactly the same as a crossbow but I don’t have time to practice. What if it’s not? What if I think I can do it but I can’t? What if I hurt people and you die anyway and it was all for nothing? What if I can’t live with myself afterward? I don’t want to hurt people, Keith, but… I have to. I have to.”

 

“No, you don’t, Lance,” Keith said, shaking his head and kissing Lance on the tip of his nose. His thumbs moved to wipe away tears that Lance didn’t even know he was crying, looking at him softly. Keith wasn’t looking at Lance like he was admitting he was willing to murder for him, and it confused him. Did he not understand? “I appreciate what you’re willing to do, I really do, but you don’t need to.”

 

“Yes, I do,” Lance argued, clenching his jaw harshly. “I’m not gonna let them take you from me. I refuse.” Lance fisted handfuls of Keith’s shirt, his fingers trembling. “I’m gonna get you out of this, Keith. Even if it kills me.”

 

Keith smiled a small, private smile and leaned forward to kiss him, slow and sweet. “Lance, baby. I love you. You’re so sweet, so precious, so selfless. Hand me your rifle.”

 

Lance furrowed his brow in confusion but handed it to him anyway, watching as he pulled away to turn the weapon over in his hands and inspect it closely. “First things first, you said you need practice, right?” Keith said, looking away from the gun to meet Lance’s eyes, raising a questioning brow. Lance nodded, confused as Keith pressed another quick kiss to Lance’s lips and pushed him off his lap, walking out of his cell. 

 

Lance climbed to his feet to follow, his eyes watching the rifle as it glowed briefly in Keith’s hands and therefore missing the target as it appeared on the wall at the end of the hall. He looked between the two, wondering what Keith had done to the rifle and why he wanted him to practice  _ right here.  _ Wouldn’t someone hear him?

 

“I made it silent,” Keith said, seemingly reading his mind as handed the gun back. “Or, made it silent to everyone but us. It’s more of a sound barrier. Why don’t you practice a little bit?”

 

Lance took the gun from him and stared at him for a few more seconds before he dropped his eyes to the weapon in his hands. He drew on his distant knowledge of how guns were supposed to work and realized that if he wanted to practice, he probably needed some bullets. And some gunpowder. “I don’t have any ammo,” Lance frowned, turning to look back at Keith.

 

He raised his hand and muttered under his breath in response, nodding his head when whatever magic he did was done. “There. Now you don’t have to worry about ammo anymore.”

 

“What do you mean?” Lance asked cautiously, turning the weapon over in his palms. Keith rolled his eyes and waved his hand at it vaguely. 

 

“I magicked it. You won’t need to reload it or anything now. You’ll have ammo whenever you need it.”

 

Lance stared at Keith for a second before he smiled widely and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

 

“You didn’t know I could do a lot of things,” Keith said, unable to keep a smile from spreading across his lips. “Now, come on. Get some practice in.”

 

Lance nodded and inspected the rifle once more, weighing it in his hands before bringing it up and tucking the end of it under his arm, closing one eye to look down the barrel to the target on the far wall. He pulled back the hammer and cocked it, trying to steel his nerves and convince himself that it was okay to pull the trigger. No one could hear them, no one would get hurt, and the better he got the better the chances he could save Keith. 

 

It was much louder than he had prepared himself for. 

 

He stumbled backward a step as the gun kicked, causing the bullet to slam into the wall several inches above the outermost ring of the target. “Off to a great start,” Lance muttered to himself, shaking his head and glaring at Keith who was unsuccessfully hiding his giggle behind his hand. 

 

“You’re normally so smooth with your crossbow,” Keith said, eyes bright with mirth. “It’s funny seeing you have absolutely no idea what to do.”

 

“I much prefer crossbows,” Lance grumbled, raising the rifle again and mentally preparing himself, much better than he had last time. When he pulled the trigger again he was ready for the kick and didn’t jump at the noise, and he managed to land the bullet within the confines of the target, even if it was just barely. It was an improvement, and that was all the mattered. 

 

Lance wasn’t sure how long he stood next to Keith in the dank hallway of the dungeons and fired his rifle at the target painted across the wall, but by the end, his fingers were sore and stiff and his aim was nearly as impeccable as it had been with his crossbow. He made Keith swear up and down he hadn’t used his magic to make Lance’s aim better, because he wouldn’t have Keith’s magic to assist him when the time came. He needed his talent to be his own if he had any hope of the plan working out in his favor.

 

“It’s getting late,” Lance sighed eventually, letting his rifle fall to his side as he turned to face Keith and give him an apologetic look. Keith smiled and took the gun from his hand, leaning it against the wall before pulling Lance into his arms. 

 

“It’s okay. I know you’ve gotta go get things set up for tomorrow. Are you feeling any better?”

 

Lance sighed again, heavier this time, and wrapped his arms around Keith’s torso, tucking his head under Keith’s chin. “I guess, partially. But now I’m even more capable of hurting people.”

 

Keith smoothed his hand up and down Lance’s back, holding him tightly. “Lance, baby, I already told you that you don’t have to do that.”

 

“Yes I  _ do,  _ Keith! I have to save you. I  _ have  _ to,” Lance snapped, his words losing heat as he continued. “I can’t live without you.”

 

“You don’t have to,” Keith said softly, kissing the top of his head before pulling away to grab the rifle again. “Where are my stones?”

 

Lance dug into his pockets and pulled out Keith’s thin, lavender stones, handing them to him with confusion laced through his features. Keith huffed softly as he took them, smiling at Lance before closing his eyes. He held the stones in one hand and the rifle in the other, muttering under his breath as both items began to glow, outlined by blinding purple light that Lance immediately recognized as Keith’s magic. He watched, confused and amazed in equal parts as the glow slowly dimmed again, leaving Keith to open his eyes and hand the rifle to Lance once more.

 

“What did you do?” Lance asked softly, inspecting the gun and seeing no visible difference. 

 

“I infused it with the magic from the stones,” Keith said simply, shrugging his shoulders. “Now the bullets will put whoever they touch to sleep without injuring them, no matter where they land, and I’ll have the power to wake them up whenever I see fit.”

 

“I… You can do that?” Lance asked, staring at him in awe.

 

“I can do almost anything I want, baby,” Keith said, laughing softly and staring at Lance with admiration thick in his eyes. Lance grinned widely and danced forward to wrap his arms around Keith’s neck, peppering the side of his face with kisses.

 

“God dammit. I love you so much,” Lance said happily, smiling against Keith’s skin.

 

“I love you, too,” Keith said, voice soft with laughter as he looped his arms around Lance’s waist and held him close. “I’m gonna miss you.”

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Lance assured him, nuzzling into his neck. “The execution should be bright and early, so I’ll have you out of there and back in my arms before you know it.”

 

“You should get going then, hmm? Get some rest before then,” Keith said, burying his face in Lance’s shoulder.

 

“Probably,” Lance hummed, not making an effort to extract himself from Keith’s warm embrace, keeping their bodies pressed close together and soaking in the scent of expansive ocean waves that was strong enough to cut through the smell of mildew and mold. He didn’t want to leave. He knew he had to, had things to prepare for and a reputation to uphold, but he didn’t  _ want _ to. He wanted to just take Keith now, run down to the harbor and pay someone to sail the two of them far away from here. 

 

The worst part was that he could have, if he didn’t care so much about his empire, about his sister, about the rest of his family he’d be leaving behind. Whether he wanted to believe it and trust it or not, the plan they’d come up with was the best for passing everything off smoothly, for securing the best of both worlds. The only thing Lance had to do to gain happiness for himself and Keith for the rest of their lives was follow the plan, carry out his part, and do it well. 

 

Hopefully, he could. If not, he wasn’t sure what would happen, but he was almost positive it wouldn’t be good. 

 

“Don’t overthink anything, okay?” Keith said softly, words almost lost in Lance’s skin. “Whatever happens, happens.” 

 

“I’m gonna get you out,” Lance said, not giving him a direct response. “I promise.”

 

“Just be careful,” Keith whispered, swallowing audibly. “I won’t be able to help protect you. Don’t get yourself killed trying to save me.”

 

“I’ll be careful,” Lance promised, squeezing him tighter. “I promise. But if I did die trying to save you? It’d be worth it.”

 

Keith pulled away to cup Lance’s face in his hands, looking into his eyes as if he was looking through them, through  _ him,  _ into some inner part of himself that only Keith could reach. “I love you,” he said, his thumbs blazing slow trails back and forth along Lance’s cheekbones, his eyes burning with emotion that made Lance feel like he was drowning in the best possible way. “So incredibly much.”

 

Lance’s eyes watered as he leaned forward to rest his forehead against Keith’s, letting his eyelids slip shut as they shared each other’s air. “I love you, too. More than anything.” Keith tipped his chin and captured Lance’s lips in a soft kiss, holding him there as he shoved everything he felt for Lance into the movement of his mouth, the fragile tightness of his grip, the press of their bodies that was familiar and sure. 

 

Lance felt so much of his anxiety slip away and float to the ceiling, far out of reach. Everything would be okay, so long as he had faith in himself. So much was riding on Lance’s ability to complete his mission, but every second that passed after his success would be worth it. And he  _ would _ succeed. He was sure of it. 

 

When they pulled away, Lance couldn’t resist pressing another quick peck to Keith’s lips as he smiled at him. Keith smiled back—smiled Lance’s favorite private smile that was reserved just for him—as he waved his hand and the target and bullet holes in the far wall disappeared. He handed the lavender stones back to Lance so he could wake up Matt and walked backward as he returned to the confines of his cell, pulling the door shut after him, his eyes never leaving Lance as he settled back down in the middle of the floor, legs crossed beneath him.

 

“Good luck, baby,” Keith said, blowing Lance a kiss through the bars (which he caught quite dramatically). “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“See you tomorrow,”  Lance parroted, blowing him a kiss in return as he spun on his heel and left the dungeons, climbing the small staircase back to the basement floor. 

 

It took him practically no time at all to wake up Matt, a simple press of stone on skin, and Lance left the basement quickly after he was sure Matt was unharmed, not wanting him to suspect anything if he lingered too long. 

 

He dropped the stones back in Keith’s room on his way to his own, running over a mental list of all the things he’d need to stash in the royal viewing box before the next morning. He dug through his closet and drawers quickly, ignoring the amused looks Pidge was shooting him from where she was leaning against the doorway as he piled his supplies on his bed. 

 

Once he was positive he had everything he needed, had run over the list ten times himself and had made Pidge double check him at least twice, he scooped everything into his arms and ruffled Pidge’s hair as he went out the door and wound his way through the halls, wanting to drop it all off as soon as he could and get back to what he knew would be a restless night of sleep.


	15. keep you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn’t dare look down as the guards started the fire, stepping away once it was lit. If he focused hard enough, he could tune out the excited yelling of the crowd and hear only the soft crackle of the fire beneath his feet, slowly catching on and spreading along the logs stacked at the base of the cross.

Keith’s first night in the dungeons had been largely uneventful. He’d watched Lance’s back until he disappeared up the stairs and back into the rest of the castle, immediately counting the seconds until he could see him again. He could only hope that Lance would find his stones and come to visit so he didn’t have to wait three days or possibly never get another chance. 

 

Matt had stood in front of his cell and watched him disappear as well, never once exchanging a word with Keith as Lance’s footsteps disappeared and soaked into the walls. Keith had stared at him, eyes flicking over the tense planes of his face as he waited for him to turn to him, look at him, smile at him as he had a million times before. 

 

Keith sat and waited for a long time, but it never happened. 

 

Matt stared at the dungeon stairs for minutes that Keith quickly lost track of, lost somewhere in his head, biting at his lip as if his goal was to chew it off. Keith would've had to be stupid to not notice the battle Matt was fighting against himself and would’ve had to be even stupider to not know what it was about. His chest had tightened in shame as he witnessed yet another person in distress because of him, yet another person forced to make decisions based on a mistake that he’d made. 

 

The longer they had sat there in silence, the worse Keith had felt, the more he had wanted to speak up, and the more he had known it’d be better if he didn’t. Eventually, Matt had taken a deep breath and walked away, still without a word to Keith, and climbed the stairs, settling himself just outside the door. 

 

Keith had sighed softly and spread himself out on the floor of his cell, staring at the ceiling. The dungeons were cold and wet and smelled of rot, and Keith had already begun to dread the time he’d have to spend there, for multiple reasons. 

 

But with nothing to do to pass the time but get lost in his thoughts, Keith had fallen asleep before he knew it and had woken up uncountable hours later with a sore back and clammy skin, the sound of his cell door opening echoing off the damp stone walls. He sat up and stretched as Matt slid a tray of food through the cracked door, making sure it was through all the way before pulling it shut again. It looked like he had asked Shay for the worst possible food she had, and Keith glared at Matt as he accepted it, shoving it in his mouth only because he was starving. 

 

“What time is it?” Keith asked as he ate, leaning up against the far wall. 

 

“Early,” Matt answered with a shrug. Keith sighed softly, tipping his head back. 

 

“You know you don’t have to treat me like I’m a criminal, right? I didn’t do anything wrong.” 

 

“You’re a witch,” Matt said shortly, voice pitched in a way Keith had never heard before. “That’s wrong enough.” 

 

“Somehow, I expected you to be far more open-minded,” Keith said, sighing again. “I thought we were friends.” 

 

“We were,” Matt said, nodding. “Past tense. Not anymore. Now we’re enemies.” 

 

Keith couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking his head slightly. “All right, Matthew. Be my enemy if you want. But it’s sure as hell not mutual.”

 

“I’m sure that’s what you want me to think,” Matt muttered as he turned and left again, leaving Keith with his burnt bread and watery soup. 

 

Keith slumped against the wall in defeat, wondering where he’d be right then if he wasn’t a fucking idiot. He’d probably be curled up in bed with Lance, tucked into his side and under the wonderful duvet that covered his bed, sleepy and content and warm. Instead he was freezing, sore, eating the worst food Matt could conjure up while stuck in a cell he could easily get out of if he didn’t care about making things worse for himself. They hadn’t made any moves to actually stop him from using his magic, so if he wanted to, he could make a hole in the wall and walk right out. But he cared too much about Lance to do that.

 

Lance told him he was making a plan to get him out, and after all the ways Keith had fucked things up already, he owed it to Lance to stick around long enough to give him a chance. A life without Lance sounded worse than any death anyway, and he couldn’t imagine living with the guilt of knowing he was the reason the two of them were no longer together. 

 

Thinking about Lance reminded him of the conversation they’d had the night before when Lance had come to see him. Keith was still in shock over how easily Lance had taken the news of him being a witch, and how he was far more concerned with Keith’s safety than the health of his father. When Keith thought about it, he supposed it made sense. The things Lance told him were logical, and they made Keith feel a bit dumb for his own line of reasoning, really. If he were in Lance’s footsteps, he would’ve felt the same way. But then again, Keith didn’t really have the same sense of sentimentality that Lance had towards other people. He’d had wildly different experiences throughout his life that drove him to act in different ways than Lance, and the things that Keith did often didn’t line up with the things Lance would’ve done, which was something that seemed fairly obvious now. 

 

Keith only hoped that Lance came up with a plan that succeeded, both so that Keith could live and so that Lance didn’t have to suffer the loss of two different people he cared for. He also hoped that Lance found his stones and came to visit him again soon, because his cell was incredibly lonely and he really wanted to see him, ask how he was doing, soak him in as much as he could before time ran out. 

 

Keith sat there for a few hours, thinking in circles as he waited for something to happen. He eventually got so bored that he crafted a small bird made of pale blue light to fly around his cell and entertain him with its flight patterns and small trills. It was kind of a pathetic kind of entertainment, he could admit, but it was really all he had. He wouldn’t mind being locked up so much if it wasn’t so  _ boring, _ but he felt like he was losing his mind just sitting there, waiting. He couldn’t stop thinking about what awaited him, couldn’t stop imagining how many people had been locked up in these cells before him and what had happened to them. He couldn’t stop thinking about how many of those people had been innocent just like he was but had been brought to death just the same. After  , the bird seemed like it was taunting Keith instead of entertaining him, reminding him that it could fly away at any time and he was stuck there with cold stone and the smell of rot.

 

Keith had taken to staring at the bird intensely, not letting his eyes focus on anything else. It was starting to make his head hurt, but it was a good way to keep himself distracted. It was while he was watching the bird make a dive that Keith noticed additional movement in the corner of his eye, which understandably caught his interest and broke his intense concentration. He wished desperately for it to be Lance as he extinguished the bird, sitting up a bit and returning to his favorite spot in the middle of the cell. 

 

He let out an audibly disappointed sigh when it turned out to just be Matt, stopped in front of his cell again. Keith was about to make a remark when he noticed the look on Matt’s face, far different than the way he’d looked during his previous visits. 

 

His features were a mix of several emotions that Keith had a hard time deciphering, and it seemed like a large amount of them weren’t even directed at Keith himself this time. It seemed as if… something had happened, and Keith felt like he had a good idea as to what it was. 

 

“The king,” Matt said eventually, his voice raspy and uneven, “has passed away.” 

 

The words felt like a punch to the gut, even though he’d been somewhat expecting them. The king’s death had been a long time coming, but the pain of the inevitable was still pain. He knew he’d done everything in his power to try and stop it, but the death of the king still meant nothing but sadness and grief for his boyfriend, who he couldn’t even see right now. Not only had Keith gotten himself locked away and put Lance under stress to save him, but he couldn’t even be there to support him when he needed him. 

 

“Let me see him,” Keith said, staring Matt down. They both knew who he was talking about, and it wasn’t the king. 

 

Matt immediately shook his head, clenching his teeth. “No, I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t.” 

 

“Matt,” Keith said, narrowing his eyes. “You know how hard this will be on him. That’s the only fucking reason I tried to stop it. Let me see him. Please.” 

 

Matt looked at him for a second before shaking his head again. “I can’t, Keith. I have to follow orders. Prisoners are to interact with no one outside their caretaker. That includes Lance, no matter the circumstances.”

 

“Matt, please. I’m begging you. Just let me talk to him, give him a hug,  _ something.  _ I need to be there for him,” Keith pleaded, his voice coming out low and strained.

 

“I  _ can’t,  _ Keith. Stop asking. You can’t see him again. Maybe you should’ve thought about this before you turned yourself in,” Matt snapped, the grief from his face disappearing as his features settled and turned to stone. Keith blinked at the sudden change, the silence stretching on between them.  

 

It felt like forever before Keith’s brain decided on a reaction, and he found his fists clenching at his sides as anger flashed through him, his eyes narrowing again in Matt’s direction. Before he could really think about it he was pulling at his magic, using it to tug at one of the iron bars of his cell and rip the upper half of it free, sending it hurtling towards the wall just beside Matt’s head. It happened so quickly that Matt barely had time to flinch before the bar was impaling the stone with a sickening crunch, inches away from the tip of his ear. Keith let his magic dissipate then, forcing himself to take deep breaths and calm down. 

 

Matt stared at him like he was a complete stranger before he turned once more and walked away, staying  eerily silent as he left. Guilt immediately welled in Keith’s chest but he pushed it away, determined to stay strong. All of this was unfair. Keith hadn’t done anything  _ wrong.  _ In all the years he’d lived and worked at the castle, not once had he made a threat, made a wrong move, or done anything that could even potentially be seen as dangerous. The people here  _ knew  _ him, but the second he’d attempted to save the king’s life and consequently labeled himself as a witch, all of that trust vanished. That alone made Keith feel more sick than anything else. Did his actions not prove himself more than a label did? 

 

Keith didn’t see anyone for the rest of the day. He slipped in and out of sleep, growing more and more numb from the never-ending chill that settled in his bones. Maybe he’d freeze to death before his trial even came, and Lance would find him sprawled across the floor with his remorse immortalized on his face. With still nothing to do but think, Keith found himself regretting a lot of things. Most of them were petulant and petty and things he didn’t really mean, and the highlight was certainly his decision to make the potion. Still, he could only regret it so much, because he still felt good about giving the king a chance. He would never have the conscious to say he wished he could take that back. 

 

He just wished he lived in a different time. He wished witches were celebrated instead of hated, recognized for their talent instead of feared for their ability. He didn’t even really need anything more than equality, as much as fame and glory appealed to him. He just wanted to be able to live. He wanted to be able to produce a bouquet of flowers for Lance out of thin air and not have anyone blink an eye, wanted to help Shay in the kitchen when her bread wouldn’t rise and help Shiro during knight training. He wanted to exist the way everybody else got to, without hiding and being forced to harbor a huge part of himself. 

 

Even if Lance succeeded and managed to save him, what then? Where would they go? They couldn’t stay there at the castle. Would they even be able to stay together? Would they be forced to stay goodbye? What else would Lance be forced to sacrifice in order to keep Keith safe? The longer Keith thought about it, the worse it made him feel. This whole thing was a giant mess, and it was all his fault. He was making Lance do so much for him, and Keith hadn’t even been able to give him the one thing he wanted. Lance was  _ clearly  _ the better boyfriend.   

 

Keith eventually slowed his mind to a halt and managed to get some sleep without waking himself right back up again, and when he found himself awake next, Matt was back with another plate of horrible food held aloft in front of him. He didn’t even look at Keith this time, just slid the tray through the door and walked away. Keith sighed softly and bit his lip, eating the food slowly despite how ravenous he felt. He understood where Matt was coming from, and knew how compelling a sense of duty could be. He wasn’t even sure, if the roles were reversed, that he wouldn’t be doing the exact same thing. But it was hard to look at someone who he used to call “friend” and think of him as “captor”, hard to think that all the things he’d ever done for and with Matt had meant nothing compared to what people who shared the same title as him  _ might  _ have done. 

 

Everything about being in the cell was hard. He hadn’t seen Lance in two days and he was becoming increasingly more aware that tomorrow was it, either the day he died or the day he became an enemy of the crown. He was cold and hungry and uncomfortable and the mold was making him sneeze, and he was so bored he felt like he was about to lose his mind. Not to mention he’d been wearing the same robes for days now and he felt disgusting, more in need of a bath then he’d probably ever been.

He couldn’t even properly keep track of time, because the only daylight he could see was through a tiny sliver of a crack in his ceiling, and it was only enough to tell if it was night or day. So he mostly found himself lying on the floor, singing to himself or mumbling spells he knew or reciting the bits and pieces of literature he’d picked up while reading with Lance. He conjured more birds, but they kept making him think of his lack of freedom, and it seemed cruel to force himself to lay there and stare at creatures that could fly wherever they pleased. The other animals he tried to make didn’t have quite the same appeal so he eventually gave up on conjuring anything at all, choosing to instead count the multitude of cracks in the ceiling.   

 

He’d reached four digits by the time he heard the noise of another person, and he sat up faster than he thought possible before scooting over to sit in the middle of his cell and see who it was. He thought maybe it was Matt bringing him another meal, and excitement swelled in his gut at the thought. God, he was hungry. 

 

But the person that came into view was not Matt and a tray of food, but instead Lance and a rifle. Lance looked nervous, his hair tousled and his eyes wild, unable to focus on any one thing as his fingers tapped against the smooth body of the gun he clutched rather tightly in his other hand. Keith watched with masked surprise as Lance shakily unlocked his cell, leaning his gun against the wall of it as he stepped towards him. Keith rose to his knees to meet him and pull Lance against his chest, holding onto him tightly. Words seemed like too much at that moment so he said nothing, keeping all his questions to himself as he rocked them back and forth, wanting to make up for the lack of his presence the day before.   

 

Keith eventually swallowed, clearing his throat a bit as he spoke. “Hey, baby,” he said, his hand coming up to brush along Lance’s soft nest of hair as Lance pushed his face into Keith’s neck. He said nothing in return, and Keith could practically feel the wheels turning inside his head. He didn’t know what was bothering him or what had him thinking so hard, but it was Keith’s job to support him, no matter what it was. The most recent thing Keith figured it could be was Lance’s father, so he decided to bring up the fact that he already knew in an attempt to get him talking. “I heard about your dad.” 

 

Lance didn’t hesitate to let out a soft, humorless laugh at that, which made Keith bite his lip. 

 

“Yeah. Karma’s a bitch.” Bitterness didn’t suit Lance at all, not one bit, and Keith’s concern only grew. If it wasn’t his father, then what was it? What else had happened that Keith didn’t know about? 

 

“Lance.” Keith pulled back slightly and cupped Lance’s cheeks, holding him still as he looked into his eyes. “Talk to me. Please.”

 

His hesitance was obvious as his eyes searched Keith’s face, seemingly finding what they were looking for before they slipped shut. “We came up with a plan,” Lance said, sounding as far from pleased and confident about it as he could. It made something ugly settle low in Keith’s gut which he didn’t want to even acknowledge, let alone address. “A plan to save you.”

 

Keith stayed silent, not sure what he was supposed to say to that. He wasn’t an idiot; he could read the room. There was obviously something he was missing, and he wasn’t about to share his thoughts until he knew what that was. However, Lance looked like he was going to need a little prompting to get there. “That’s good, right?” Keith asked softly, tapping his thumb against Lance’s cheekbone, missing the alluring blue of his eyes. 

 

“Yes,” Lance said, his answer so immediate that it shocked both of them as he opened his eyes again. “Yes, of course it’s good. I’m just… worried. Scared. Guilty, even though I haven’t done anything yet. I… It’s gonna be hard for me to do. But I’ll do it, I will. I’m not going to let you die.”    
  


What exactly did they have planned? It sounded  _ awful,  _ and if it was going to make Lance this upset, Keith wasn’t even sure he wanted it to happen. “What do you mean?” Keith asked, trying to pry some soft of answer from the look on Lance’s face. “What are you talking about?”

 

“I have to hurt people, Keith. I have to use that rifle to defend myself, defend  _ you,  _ from the royal guard. And I know I’ll do whatever it takes to get you out of there, even if that means killing someone. But I don’t— What if I can’t do it? What if I freeze up?” Lance was working himself up as he spoke, and his words sent spikes of guilt and nausea through Keith as he listened. “I’ve never  _ used  _ a gun before, and Shiro says it’s exactly the same as a crossbow, but I don’t have time to practice. What if it’s not? What if I think I can do it but I can’t? What if I hurt people and you die anyway and it was all for nothing? What if I can’t live with myself afterwards? I don’t want to hurt people, Keith. But I have to. I have to.”

 

Keith considered this for a second, biting his lip to help him focus as he thought it over. If that was the plan they had come up with, and all Lance needed was time to practice and the promise that he wouldn’t hurt anyone, then Keith could help with that, couldn't he? He was a witch, for fuck’s sake. There were very few things his magic couldn’t do. 

 

“No, you don’t, Lance,” Keith said, shaking his head as he kissed the tip of Lance’s nose. He used the pads of his thumbs to wipe the tears from Lance’s cheeks, and Lance looked like he wasn’t even aware he was crying. Keith gave him a soft look, hoping to portray everything he was feeling in his expression to help put Lance at ease before he could explain. “I appreciate what you’re willing to do, I really do, but you don’t need to.” 

 

“Yes, I do,” Lance argued, his jaw visibly clenching. “I’m not gonna let them take you from me. I refuse.” Lance’s hands came up and grabbed fistfuls of Keith’s shirt, his fingers trembling. “I’m gonna get you out of this, Keith. Even if it kills me.” 

 

Keith couldn’t help but smile at that. God, how did he manage to score a boyfriend that was so sweet, so selfless, so giving? He leaned forward to give Lance a kiss, keeping it slow and sweet. “Lance, baby. I love you. You’re so sweet, so precious, so selfless. Hand me your rifle.” 

 

Lance’s brow furrowed slightly but he picked it up again and handed it to Keith anyway, watching as he turned the weapon over in his hands to take a look. “First things first, you said you need to practice, right?” Keith asked, looking up to meet Lance’s eyes, raising a brow in question. Lance nodded, still confused as Keith kissed him again quickly and gently shoved him off his lap, getting up and walking out of his cell.  

 

Keith quickly used his magic to alter the gun, one hand focusing on making it quiet as the other hand drew a target on the far wall for Lance to aim at. “I made it silent,” Keith said as he handed the gun back to a bewildered Lance. “Or, made it silent to everyone but us. It’s more of a sound barrier. Why don’t you practice a little bit?”

 

Lance took the gun and stared at him for a few more seconds before he looked down at the weapon in his hands. He continued to look at it for a few seconds before he lifted his head again, frowning at Keith. “I don’t have any ammo.” 

 

Keith raised his hand and muttered under his breath, nodding at Lance when he was done. “There. Now you don’t have to worry about ammo anymore.” 

 

“What do you mean?” Lance asked, his voice cautious as he rolled the gun in his hands. Keith rolled his eyes, gesturing towards it with a wave of his hand. 

 

“I magicked it. You won’t need to reload it or anything now. You’ll have ammo whenever you need it.”

 

Lance stared at him for a second before a wide smile broke out across his face. He leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to Keith’s lips before he spoke. “I didn’t know you could do that.” 

 

“You didn’t know I could do a lot of things,” Keith said, unable to keep from smiling. This was the first time he’d really gotten to show off his magic in front of Lance, the first time he’d really been reaffirmed in the fact that Lance didn’t care that he knew how to use it, and it was wonderful. It felt amazing to let loose and be the truest version of himself in front of the person he loved more than anyone else. “Now, come on. Get some practice in.” 

 

Lance nodded and looked at the rifle one more time, seemingly weighing it in his hands before he brought it up and tucked it beneath his arm, closing an eye to look down the barrel. Keith stepped back and leaned against the bars of his cell, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched Lance focus. It took him another second before he pulled the trigger, and he apparently wasn’t prepared for how loud it was going to be or the way it was going to kick considering the way he reacted. 

 

Keith put a hand over his mouth to hide his smile as Lance stumbled back a step, the bullet rocketing into the wall several inches above the top of the target. Lance muttered to himself, shaking his head and turning to glare at Keith, who was now unsuccessfully hiding a giggle behind his hand.

 

“You’re normally so smooth with your crossbow,” Keith said, his amusement clear in his voice. “It’s funny seeing you have absolutely no idea what to do.” 

 

“I much prefer crossbows,” Lance grumbled, raising the gun again. When he pulled the trigger the second time it seemed like he was actually ready for it, and he managed to land the bullet within the top ring of the target. Lance looked so proud of the improvement, and Keith couldn’t help but be proud as well. 

 

It was hard to tell how long they stood there, surrounded by gunsmoke and ear-shattering bangs and Lance’s occasional whoops of excitement as he honed his skill, but by the time Lance lowered his rifle and turned back to him, Keith’s legs hurt from standing and his shoulders were numb where the bars had been digging into them. Lance made him swear a million times over that he hadn’t used his magic to make Lance better, because Keith’s magic would be dampened tomorrow and he wouldn’t be able to help when it mattered. 

 

And now that Lance was seemingly done with his practice and silence had fallen over them once again, Keith could feel the mood of the room shifting, could feel the looming pressure of the next day creeping in on them and pressing hard against his chest, making it harder to breathe.

 

“It’s getting late,” Lance said eventually, sighing as he let his rifle fall to his side. He turned to face Keith and gave him an apologetic look, but Keith simply smiled and took the gun from his hand, leaning it against the wall before he pulled Lance into his arms.  

 

“It’s okay. I know you’ve gotta go get things set up for tomorrow. Are you feeling any better?”

 

Lance let out another sigh, considerably heavier than his last. He wrapped his arms around Keith’s torso, tucking his head under Keith’s chin. “I guess, partially. But now I’m just even more capable of hurting people.” 

 

Keith smoothed his hand along Lance’s back, holding him tightly. “Lance, baby, I already told you that you don’t have to do that.”

 

“Yes I  _ do,  _ Keith! I have to save you. I  _ have  _ to,” Lance snapped, his voice heated for all of two seconds before it calmed again. “I can’t live without you.” 

 

“You don’t have to,” Keith comforted softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head before pulling away and grabbing the rifle again. “Where are my stones?” 

 

Lance dug around in his pockets and pulled them free, handing them to him with confusion clear on his face once again. Keith huffed fondly as he took them, giving him a smile before he closed his eyes. He held the stones in one hand and the gun in the other, muttering under his breath as both of them began to glow, outlined by blinding purple light that Keith could see through his eyelids. The glow slowly dimmed again after a few seconds, and Keith opened his eyes as he handed the rifle back to Lance. 

 

“What did you do?” Lance asked softly, inspecting the gun curiously. 

 

“I infused it with the magic from the stones,” Keith said simply, shrugging his shoulders. “Now the bullets will put whoever they touch to sleep without injuring them, no matter where they land, and I’ll have the power to wake them up whenever I see fit.” 

 

“I… You can do that?” Lance asked, staring at him in obvious awe.

 

“I can do almost anything I want, baby,” Keith laughed softly, looking back at him with admiration clear on his face. Lance grinned widely and danced forward, wrapping his arms around Keith’s neck and peppering the side of his face with kisses. 

 

“God dammit. I love you so much,” Lance said happily, smiling against Keith’s skin. Keith felt his heart squeeze, his chest warm with love and affection and every positive thing he could possibly feel. 

 

“I love you, too,” Keith said, his voice softened with laughter as he looped his arms around Lance’s waist and held him close. “I’m gonna miss you.”

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Lance assured, nuzzling his neck. “The execution should be bright and early, so I’ll have you out of there before you know it.” 

 

“You should get going then, hmm? Get some rest before then,” Keith said, burying his face in Lance’s shoulder. 

 

“Probably,” Lance said with a hum, not making an effort to remove himself from the circle of Keith’s arms, keeping their bodies pressed tightly against one another. Keith didn’t want him to leave either, but he knew it’d be for the best if he did. He had a lot to prepare for, and as much as Keith just wanted to blast a hole in the wall and run away right now, he knew it’d never work. They had to carry on as planned. It was the best deal for Lance, who’d been forced to change so much already to accommodate Keith. 

 

“Don’t overthink anything, okay?” Keith said softly, words almost buried in Lance’s skin. “Whatever happens, happens.”

 

“I’m gonna get you out,” Lance said evasively. “I promise.”

 

“Just be careful,” Keith said, swallowing thickly. “I won’t be able to help protect you. Don’t get yourself killed trying to save me.”

 

“I’ll be careful,” Lance promised, squeezing him tighter. “I promise. But if I did die trying to save you? It’d be worth it.” 

 

Keith pulled away and cupped Lance’s face in his hands, looking into his eyes intensely, staring past all the layers of Lance that he’d spent years working through. “I love you,”  he said, trailing his thumbs along Lance’s cheekbones slowly, forcing every emotion he felt into his expression, letting Lance see it all. “So incredibly much.” 

 

Lance’s eyes watered as he leaned forward to rest their foreheads against one another, his eyes sliding shut as they breathed each other’s air. “I love you, too. More than anything.” 

 

Keith tipped his chin and captured Lance’s lips in a gentle kiss, holding him there as he pushed every ounce of emotion he felt into the movement of his lips, the strength of his grip, the press of their bodies that was familiar and sure. 

 

He knew Lance would do everything that was expected of him tomorrow, that he’d do amazing things and succeed in ways that Keith couldn’t even imagine. He had more trust in Lance than he’d ever had in anyone else, and the weight of it threatened to choke him. 

 

Lance pressed another quick peck to Keith’s lips as they pulled away, smiling at him. Keith smiled back, the smile that only Lance got to see, and waved his hand. The target and bullet holes in the far wall disappeared as he did, and he handed the lavender stones back to Lance so he could use them to revive Matt. He walked back into his cell then and pulled the door shut behind him, keeping his eyes trained on Lance’s as he settled in the middle of the floor and crossed his legs beneath him. 

 

“Good luck, baby,” Keith said, blowing Lance a kiss through the bars of the cell which was caught quite dramatically. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

 

“See you tomorrow,” Lance repeated, blowing a kiss back as he turned and walked back out, out of the dungeons and into the rest of the castle. 

 

Keith settled back into his cell and fell asleep pretty quickly after that despite the small ball of nerves settled at the bottom of his stomach. He figured the faster he slept the less likely he was to stay up all night thinking about what awaited him the next day. It wasn’t worth fretting over, wouldn’t do anything to help change the outcome. As he told Lance, whatever happened, happened. The least he could do was get some rest and try his best to prepare. 

 

He was awoken the next morning to the feeling of cold stone being closed around his wrists, various other hands on his body hauling him up and to his feet. Keith didn’t bother to resist or fight, simply blinking the sleep out of his eyes and watching Matt as he came to a stop in front of him. The longer he stood, the weaker he felt, like something was draining his blood from his veins. Whatever handcuffs they had put on him were doing something to him, and it took him another second to realize they were the cuffs Lance had warned him about. They were dampening cuffs, used to make sure Keith had no use of his magic. 

 

It was strange, feeling almost like a regular person again. His magic and his blood had been one entity for almost his entire life, and he hated the way it felt to be nothing but blood again. His magic wasn’t  _ gone,  _ just essentially dormant, but it felt the same to Keith. It felt wrong. 

 

Matt didn’t say anything to him, simply nodding his head at the guards that were gripping his upper arms on either side of him. At Matt’s signal, they began to march forward, dragging Keith forward and out of the cell, back up into the basement of the castle. There was an immediately noticeable difference in the temperature, and Keith felt the feeling slowly returning to his toes and fingers as he was hauled through the room and up the stairs, out the first door they came across. 

 

The stadium was already filled with a large, roaring crowd, and it made panic swell swiftly in Keith’s gut. The more people in attendance, the higher the likelihood that something went wrong. The more people in attendance, the higher the chance that someone recognized Lance, or joined in on the fight, or made sure Keith stayed exactly where he was, tied up and helpless on a burning stake. 

 

Being walked to his probable death would’ve been nerve-wracking no matter the circumstances, but there were too many variables in Lance’s plan for Keith to feel truly at ease. He trusted Lance, of course he did, but his life was on the line. He was well within his right to fret about all the many, many ways it could go wrong. 

 

The roar of the crowd only got louder as Keith was lead inside the arena, and he soon found out that it was absolutely humiliating to be parading in front of hundreds of people that wanted him dead. Some were booing, many of them were cheering, and others were flinging things at him, uncaring that they landed nowhere near where Keith actually stood. It was the principle of the act that mattered, and all they wanted to do was make an example of their utter distaste for him and his kind. Keith wasn’t even sure they’d been told what he was trying to do with his potion, and he wasn’t sure it would’ve mattered. It never had, never did. 

 

And if he thought being lead into the stadium was horrible, being tied to the stake was five times worse. The far-off, distant area of the arena floor that he’d seen a million times before was now his destination. The guards were unceremonious as they led him onto the small platform, pushing him roughly against the wooden cross and tying him to it with practiced ease, one arm attached to each post and his feet tied together at the bottom. Once it was all done he was no longer touching the ground, his weight held partially by rope and mostly by his wrists, which made him wince. 

 

And even worse yet than being tied to the stake was watching as the guards build the fire beneath his feet. They had no reservations in taunting him as they worked, making comments about how dry the wood was and how easily it would burn, how quickly Keith would find himself regretting the day he was born. Keith figured the joke was on them; he already kind of did. 

 

Keith would never admit it, but he was scared shitless. Lance and his plan were so incredibly far from Keith’s mind as he hung there, minutes away from a slow and incredibly painful death. He’d have a few minutes at most once the fire had been lit before it started sharing the same space as his feet, and Keith was almost positive that wasn’t enough time for Lance to do what he needed to do. 

 

Once the base of the fire was complete, the guards turned their attention to the top of the stadium and the royal viewing box, where Coran, Allura, and Lance stood at attention. Keith couldn’t see any details from where he was, but he could see the tension in the line of Lance’s frame as he stood, probably beaming a brilliant, fake smile at his people.

 

Coran started speaking then, yelling some things that Keith couldn’t really bring himself to pay attention to, silencing the crowd. Keith stared intently at his feet, clenching his jaw against the pain in his wrists, ignoring the judgemental stares from the rows upon rows of people surrounding him. He barely even noticed when Coran’s speech was over, clued in only by movement from the guards. Keith’s head whipped up as they started towards him again, wicked grins on their faces. The look made Keith feel sick to his stomach and he tipped his head back to rest against the wood of the cross he was strung up on, taking deep breaths as he stared at the sky. The last thing he needed to do right then was throw up. 

 

He didn’t dare look down as the guards started the fire, stepping away once it was lit. If he focused hard enough, he could tune out the excited yelling of the crowd and hear only the soft crackle of the fire beneath his feet, slowly catching on and spreading along the logs stacked at the base of the cross. 

 

He couldn’t see Lance, couldn’t hear Lance, couldn’t feel anything but the increasing heat licking along his toes and the pain in his wrists. His breathing started coming quicker, his eyes sliding shut as he curled his hands into fists. He tried to remind himself that he deserved this, that he’d accepted this, that even if Lance failed or never even showed, this outcome was perfectly fine. Keith didn’t want to die, but what choice did he have now? He couldn’t use his magic, couldn’t undo his binds, couldn’t plead and beg and negotiate. He was tied to a burning cross with no way to escape, and that was that. 

 

He let out a soft sob, curling his toes and trying to inch away from the heat. It was closer now, much too close, and there was still no sign of Lance. Had he decided it wasn’t worth it? Had someone stopped him? Had he already been injured? What if—

 

Keith’s train of thought was cut short by a deafening blast, so close that he could almost taste it. He opened his eyes and blinked the tears from his lashes, almost letting out another sob (this time one of relief) at the sight of a dark cloak, a smooth rifle, and a pair of confident, steady, caramel colored hands. 

 

There were fewer people guarding Keith than either of them had probably imagined, but at the sound of the first shot, that quickly changed. Guards came pouring out of the stands, whipping out swords and rushing in Lance’s direction. Lance let out a small squeak that Keith could barely hear, turning and firing rapid shots at the ropes binding Keith’s ankles. Keith pushed his legs to one side the best he could, not interested in being put to sleep right then. 

 

The guards had almost completely swarmed Lance by the time he shot through the rope and Keith was able to pull his legs up and away from the fire blazing hungrily beneath him. The crowd was properly roaring now, but everyone stayed sat in their seats, seemingly afraid to join the fray or simply assuming it was nothing the Royal Guard couldn’t handle. 

 

Keith was having a hard time knowing where to focus as he watched. His attention was split between the pain in his wrists and abdomen as he tried to hold himself above the fire; the guards pushing closer and closer to Lance; and Lance himself — firing the rifle as the crowd surrounding him as if he was made for it. Even in all the times he’d seen Lance in crossbow practice, he had never looked so smooth, so coordinated, so graceful. It was clear that Lance performed well in the heat of battle, and he looked more beautiful than Keith could ever remember him being, even though much of his body was covered with robes and masks and dark clothes. 

 

Lance’s own attention seemed to be split as he fought against the guards. He’d shoot just enough to clear a space for himself before turning towards Keith, aiming at either the base of the cross or the dampening cuffs around his wrists, his face pinching in familiar frustration the longer it took. Although Keith was able to keep his feet out of immediate danger, the fire was still slowly climbing the pole and he wouldn’t be safe forever. 

 

Lance clearly seemed to recognize this and redoubled his efforts, taking risks and shooting at Keith more than he shot at the people trying to take him down. It was getting harder to watch the higher the flames rose, his vision and lungs clogged by thick, black smoke. It only seemed to make Lance panic more, and Keith figured Lance was probably having as much trouble seeing Keith as Keith was seeing him. 

 

Keith could feel the heat getting closer,  _ closer and closer and closer, _ and he let his eyes slip shut, taking in desperate breaths through his nose as he rose his face to the sky. He didn’t believe that there was some otherworldly power out there that would save him if Lance couldn’t, but it was an appealing thought. 

 

His heart was pounding, his clothes were sticking to his skin, his eyes stung and he could hardly take in a proper breath, but one of Lance’s bullets finally broke through one of his dampening cuffs and he felt a wave of weak magic rush through him, mixing back with his blood. 

 

That was all Keith needed to break the other side, and as he made a wall of hardened air around himself to do nothing more than give himself enough room to breathe, Lance came barreling at him and tackled the cross and all, sending them flying over the edge of the cliff behind them. 

 

Keith yelped and scrambled to break their fall as they plummeted towards the rocky sand beneath them, the fire that lingered on the base of the broken cross extinguished as they fell. He barely managed to slow their descent before they splattered on the ground, letting out a soft groan as the weight of the cross that was still bound to his wrists brought him all the way down. He lowered Lance down next to him carefully, simply laying there for a second to catch his breath. 

 

“Um,” Lance squeaked from beside him, poking Keith’s cheek. “Can you make us, like, invisible, or something?” 

 

Keith opened his eyes and let out a similar squeak when he saw the guards poking their heads over the side of the cliff, yelling at each other and debating a way to get down to where they were. 

 

“Please untie me,” Keith said, yanking at the ropes slightly.

 

Lance nodded and did so quickly, tugging them free easily. He then grabbed Keith’s hand and pulled him up, taking a second to shoot him a bright smile. “Hey, baby. Long time, no see.” 

 

Keith snorted softly, shaking his head in amusement as he circled his arm once and made them invisible as Lance had asked, making sure to cover their footsteps as well as they began to move along the thin beach beside the expanse of the ocean. Lance was silent beside him as they walked, his hood still covering his head as he stared at the sand below their feet, chewing on his lip. 

 

“Are you okay?” Keith asked softly as they walked, reaching out to grab Lance’s hand. 

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. I just… I didn’t hurt any of them, right?” Lance asked, raising his head to look at Keith with worried eyes. Keith gave him a small smile, bringing his other hand up to cup Lance’s cheek. 

 

“No, Lance. You didn’t hurt any of them. When we get back to the castle I’ll wake them all up, and we can have Shiro do a headcount to make sure everyone’s made it back, okay?” 

 

“Okay,” Lance said, turning his head a little to press a kiss to Keith’s palm, a small smile spreading across his lips to match Keith’s. “Thank you.” 

 

“You’re welcome,” Keith said, letting his hand drop again before he began tugging them along the beach at a quicker pace, knowing that the guard would probably still come looking for them, invisible or not. “So, what’s the plan?”

 

“Um… Go back to the castle for now,” Lance said with a shrug. “We’ll talk to the others once we’re back and they can explain the plan we came up with.” Keith nodded and tightened his grip on Lance’s hand when he heard the shouting get louder behind them, turning to look at a few guards who had begun to carefully scale their way down the cliff. 

 

“Do you know how to get back to the castle from here?” Keith asked, subconsciously doubling down on the magic he was using to protect them. 

 

“Um, I think this beach leads up to the horse pasture. There should be gate we can use to get back in,” Lance said, furrowing his brow slightly as he tried to remember. 

 

“Let’s hope the guards don’t think to come around the other way, then, or we’ll be surrounded,” Keith muttered lowly, urging them to walk even faster. 

 

“Do you think anyone knew it was me?” Lance asked, squeezing Keith’s hand. 

 

“I don’t think so,” Keith said, shaking his head. “But I guess we won’t know for sure until later.” 

 

Lance nodded and fell silent again, his eyes trained on his feet as his footprints appeared and immediately disappeared in the sand, swiftly erased by Keith’s magic. Keith leaned over to press a quick kiss to Lance’s cheek, trying to tamp down on the victorious feeling attempting to unfold in his chest. They weren’t technically in the clear yet; they still had to get back to the castle unseen and carry out the rest of whatever Lance’s plan was, but with Lance alive and Keith alive and none of the guards injured, the day felt like such a success.

 

The trip back up to the castle took less time than Keith expected, since the incline of the trail was fairly steep and they were keeping a good pace to stay ahead of the guards somewhere behind them. They came out exactly where Lance had said they would, a few feet away from the outer edge of the horse pasture and the gate that let the stablehands lead them in and out of town whenever they needed to. As they approached the gate and Keith readied some of his magic to unlock it, they could see a steady stream of people leaving the arena in the distance, the upset clamor of their voices easily heard even from a distance.

 

The flags that flew at the top of the arena posts had been taken down, which signified both that the event had come to an end and that the royal family had left and were safely back in the castle. Keith swung the gate open and ushered Lance through as fast as he could, locking it again behind them before leading them across the field. Keith kept a close eye on their surroundings as they went, trying to make sure that no one got too close. They were safe from a distance, but anyone who got close enough would easily be able to see their movements through the blades of grass, which wasn’t something Keith could really control.

 

“Did you guys talk about where to meet up?” Keith asked Lance, his voice sounding much too loud in the quiet that had fallen over them.

 

“In the map room,” Lance answered. “It’s the most secure room in the castle.”

 

Keith nodded, changing their trajectory a bit to head towards the back door of the kitchen, both the least conspicuous entrance and the one closest to their destination. There was silence for a few more minutes before Lance spoke up, clearing his throat slightly. 

 

“So, you said there are very few things you can’t do with your magic,” Lance started, looking as if he was deep in thought. “What are those things?” 

 

“Well, it’s mostly big things. Like, I can’t fly. I can’t teleport, I can’t raise the dead, I can’t influence free will. I can’t change the weather or read people’s thoughts, and I can’t reverse or alter someone else’s magic. Those are the only things I know of, though.” 

 

“Have you tried to do all of those?” Lance asked curiously.

 

“Most of them, yeah,” Keith shrugged. “Some of them I’ve heard about from other sources, like the monks at the monastery and books I’ve read and other witches I’ve come across.” 

 

“How do you know you can’t do something? Does it just, like, not work?”

 

“Pretty much,” Keith said. “It depends on what it is. When you try to fly, for example, nothing special happens. You just tell your magic to do something and your magic says no and that’s the end of it. But when it’s something like trying to alter magic that someone else already used, you get this feeling deep in your bones that what you’re doing is  _ wrong, _ and it’s normally unsettling enough to get people to stop pretty quick.”

 

“So, have you tried to alter someone else’s magic, then?” 

 

“I tried once, yeah. There used to be another witch at the monastery who hadn’t told anyone that he was, and he was eventually outed and killed. And after, when the other monks were cleaning out his room, they found a box that had been sealed shut with his magic. The monks tried everything they could to get the box open and see what was inside, but nothing they did worked. So I snuck in late one night and tried to remove the spell so the monks would be able to see inside, and that’s what it felt like when I tried. I just left it alone after that.” 

 

“So you never found out what was in there?” Lance asked as they approached the kitchen door, moving swiftly inside. 

 

“Nope,” Keith said, shaking his head. “I probably couldn’t’ve even if I really wanted to, but it felt wrong to keep trying.”

 

“That makes sense,” Lance said with a small nod, tugging on Keith’s hand as he led them out of the kitchen and into the rest of the castle. Keith released a bit of his hold on his magic, knowing it’d be harder to see them indoors and there were fewer people looking for them in here, anyway. 

 

They didn’t really talk the rest of the way, occasionally trading comments back and forth about things that didn’t seem very important in the grand scheme. Keith still had no idea what the plan was, but Lance seemed confident and unbothered, almost  _ excited  _ about it. The castle halls were deserted, and when Keith glanced out a window as they walked by, he saw the guards were now scouring the premises outside, most likely having found nothing but the abandoned cross on the beach trail.

 

Keith secretly,  _ selfishly _ hoped that Lance’s plan involved them leaving the castle, because he didn’t think the people would be very happy if they happened to find out that Keith was still alive and still residing there. Many of them probably blamed Keith for the death of the king, and he didn’t want to stick around and find out what happened once they figured out he was still alive, practically hiding in plain sight. 

 

An unexpected sense of nervousness washed over him as they drew closer to the wide open map room doors, the sound of soft conversation spilling from inside. Keith most likely had nothing to worry about; Lance probably wouldn’t have agreed to a plan if he knew Keith wouldn’t like it. But he was still worried, especially since he (understandably) hadn’t been included in the decision. What if they forced him to leave the kingdom and everyone in it behind? What if they exiled him? What if they sold him off to another kingdom? 

 

His rational thought was telling him that they wouldn’t do any of that, but his rational thought was also very hard to hear over the frantic voice in his head telling him to hold on to Lance with everything he had. The two of them had already come so far — in both their lives together and the giant mess that Keith had made — and he didn’t want to have to give it all up now. He wanted to be happy, wanted his happy ending that he maybe didn’t deserve, and he didn’t care how selfish it made him. 

 

“Are you ready?” Lance asked just before they entered, probably reading the tense line of Keith’s shoulders and knowing that he absolutely was not. 

 

“It’s a good plan, right?” Keith asked, his worry clear in his voice no matter how hard he tried to keep it out. 

 

“It’s a good plan,” Lance reassured, squeezing his hand as he gave him a smile. “The absolute best we could come up with.”

 

Keith let out a slow breath and nodded, pulling them through the open doors once he was ready. He dropped the magic shrouding them at the same time he used some to pull the giant doors shut behind them, effectively drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Lance immediately went to work on removing the heavy clothes that had kept his identity hidden as Keith stood there awkwardly, staring back at everyone that was staring at him. 

 

“I’m glad to see you both made it back in one piece,” Allura said with a smile, seemingly speaking for the entire room if the scarily synchronized head nods were anything to go off of. “You two caused quite a scene out there.” 

 

“Was it epic?” Lance asked as he pulled off the last of his layers, leaving him in a thin pair of pants and a shirt, his cheeks flushed slightly and his hair standing up in every direction. 

 

“Very,” Shiro confirmed, nodding as he grinned. “To be honest, I’m still not entirely sure how you pulled it off.” 

 

“Me neither, chief!” Lance said cheerily, grinning back. “I’m just happy I did.” He turned then and gave Keith a soft look, leaning closer and pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek. “Really, really happy.” 

 

Keith blushed slightly at that, giving Lance a look in return that was probably just as soft as he stepped a bit closer and grabbed Lance’s hand.

 

“All right, all right, that’s enough, love birds,” Allura said, rolling her eyes fondly as her posture became quite formal, her hands folded in front of her. “I believe we have a few things to discuss.” 

  
  



	16. for

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Realistically, Lance knew he could do what was being asked of him. After the practice he’d gotten earlier with Keith and his intense sense of motivation, Lance had very little doubt that when the moment came, he would succeed far beyond what was expected. That was how he worked best, most of the time; under pressure, in the heat of the battle when every move and every mistake mattered.
> 
>  
> 
> But Lance wasn’t thinking realistically at the moment. He was alone, for one thing, with no one there to sense his doubts and talk him down, no one there to reassure him and tell him all the things he already knew. Lance’s mind took that freedom and ran with it, pulling him deeper and deeper into a spiral of panic and uncertainty and doubt. What if Lance wasn’t as good under pressure as he thought? What if he froze up? What if he couldn’t get there in time? What if Keith's magic didn’t work and the bullets really did hurt people? What if Lance just simply didn’t succeed?

 

Lance didn’t sleep nearly enough. 

 

His boyfriend was to be executed the next morning and everyone was counting on Lance to save him, so who expected him to? 

 

He definitely needed the sleep he was currently missing, especially if he wanted to perform well in the morning (which he did), but he couldn’t make his thoughts slow down. No matter how many controlled, even, deep breaths he took, nothing could disband the tight feeling in his chest or the ball of nervousness nestled deep in his gut. 

 

Lance was worried, to say the least. 

 

Realistically, Lance knew he could do what was being asked of him. After the practice he’d gotten earlier with Keith and his intense sense of motivation, Lance had very little doubt that when the moment came, he would succeed far beyond what was expected. That was how he worked best, most of the time; under pressure, in the heat of the battle when every move and every mistake mattered.

 

But Lance wasn’t thinking realistically at the moment. He was alone, for one thing, with no one there to sense his doubts and talk him down, no one there to reassure him and tell him all the things he already knew. Lance’s mind took that freedom and ran with it, pulling him deeper and deeper into a spiral of panic and uncertainty and doubt. What if Lance wasn’t as good under pressure as he thought? What if he froze up? What if he couldn’t get there in time? What if Keith's magic didn’t work and the bullets really did hurt people? What if Lance just simply didn’t succeed? 

 

There were too many things that could go wrong, too many variables that were impossible to account for, too many worries eating away at Lance’s mind. Never in his life had he been so conflicted, so at war with himself. Why couldn’t he just be confident in himself and his abilities? What would Keith do if he knew Lance had so many doubts?

 

Thoughts of Keith only ended up making it worse. Lance couldn’t help but wonder how Keith was feeling right then, if he was even awake, what he’d feel like in the morning. How would the guards treat him when they came to retrieve him? What would they say to him? Would Keith even trust Lance to get him out alive?

 

There were just too many questions, too many things to think about, too many things he didn’t know. Lance felt like he was going insane with it all. He rolled over in bed and shoved his face into a pillow, clenching his eyes shut tightly as he tried to think about something else and slowly ease his body in the direction of sleep.

 

He pulled up every happy memory he could get his hands on, images of Keith and Pidge and Hunk flashing behind his eyelids. He thought about all the time he and Keith had spent together, all the things they’d learned about each other, the way he felt when they were together. He even went so far as to grab his extra pillow (the one Keith normally used and the one that smelled like him) and hold it to his chest, cuddling it close and pretending it was the person he wanted it to be. 

 

His tactics proved to be effective enough, as not even five minutes later he found himself fast asleep, face shoved into a pillow the same way it was normally shoved into Keith’s neck. 

 

When he woke up the next morning, eyes stinging slightly as a reminder of all the sleep he’d lost, there was already an audience of people in his room, ready to perform one task or another. Allura and Shiro were there for moral support and pep talks, doing exactly what Lance had needed them to do the night before. Pidge was rooting around in his closet to find an outfit that was both princely but thin enough to fit comfortably beneath the layers of clothing Lance had stashed in the arena. Hunk and Shay were there for general comfort and to make sure he ate, despite his several claims that he wasn’t hungry. He knew it was just the nerves making him squeamish, but that didn’t make him want to eat any more.

 

Coran was there to do what he did best, which was take Lance’s mind off of things that were bothering him. It was nearly impossible to worry about the impending safety of him and his boyfriend when Coran was fifteen minutes deep into a story about the time he’d accidentally locked himself in a cellar. Lance wasn’t laughing as much as he normally did when he told stories, but Coran didn’t look offended or upset. He knew Lance was understandably distracted, and Lance was grateful for the effort he was putting in regardless. 

 

The two sets of guards didn’t do much other than stand near the door of Lance’s chambers and talk quietly amongst themselves, but they somehow managed to make Lance feel better, anyway. There was something incredibly comforting about knowing that they, if none of the others, were on his side and would support him no matter what. Lance couldn’t say that for many of the other guards, and knowing that the four of them were in Lance’s corner took a bit of the stress away. 

 

Because of all that, the morning was quite hectic. They’d woken up early to give themselves plenty of time to prepare for what was to come, but it still felt like they didn’t have enough. Lance felt like he needed forever to truly be ready, but he didn’t have that much time. All he had was enough to scarf down a wonderful breakfast and throw on his clothes, and then let Allura fuss over his messy hair and the bags under his eyes as she shoved him out the door and through the castle, across the field and towards the arena. They all went up to the royal box to start, although not all of them would be allowed to stay once the event started. 

 

They double-checked his pile of clothes, making sure that what he had gathered the night before was adequate enough to completely cover anything that would give his identity away. Shiro checked over his rifle after that, seemingly oblivious to whatever magical changes Keith had made and declaring it to be in proper working order. Every person in that viewing box with him still thought Lance was going to be injuring and possibly killing the people who were doing their jobs, trying to protect Lance and his family and the rest of the kingdom, and they didn’t seem to be bothered by that. Maybe they just weren’t as naive as Lance himself was, or maybe they just didn’t have it in them to care. But Lance did care, and luckily, he had a magical boyfriend who cared, too. 

 

Once everything had been checked, double-checked, triple-checked, and checked one more time just for fun, Coran quickly ran through his welcoming speech he’d be giving to the attendees before Shiro left with Hunk and Pidge to go down and open the gates, allowing the citizens inside. 

 

Lance paced around the box as he waited, feeling too anxious to sit down and be still. He could hear the ever-rising noise of the crowd as they filed in below him but he ignored them as well as he could, trying his best to go unnoticed by them. He needed to be focused and the crowd was nothing but an unnecessary distraction. He ignored Allura and their guards as well, although he wasn’t even really sure if they were speaking to him. The longer he paced the more the background started to fade away, until all Lance could register was the dark wood beneath his feet and his frantic thoughts, racing at the same frenzied pace as his heart. 

 

It wasn’t until the bards began to play the trumpets that Allura managed to slow Lance’s constant motion and ease him into the chair where he was supposed to be. Lance gripped the arms of the plain, wooden throne tightly, panic seizing his chest and squeezing his lungs. At first, he hadn’t really registered what the trumpet calls meant, but now it was impossible to ignore. Because there, being lead across the arena floor by two guards and a very emotionless looking Matt, was Keith. 

 

Lance couldn’t see him well from this distance, but from what he could tell, Keith looked terrified. He was curling in on himself as much as he could, head down as people began to yell and throw things at him, which made Lance’s teeth clench in anger. The guards walking with him simply laughed and carried on, not an ounce of remorse for their actions present in the way they held themselves. They looked proud, even, like they truly thought they were doing something good by carrying an innocent man to his death. 

 

It took Lance everything he had to stay in his seat until it was time. Coran’s speech was to take place after Keith had already been tied to the cross, which would draw attention towards the royal viewing box where Coran was stood. If any of the audience members noticed that Lance was absent from his seat, it could make them suspicious of Lance’s involvement in the intervention. 

 

Therefore, Lance had to sit there and watch as the guards roughly tugged Keith up the steps, hoisting him up and tying him to the large beams of wood without any consideration for Keith’s comfort. Lance wasn’t surprised by this, of course—they had been taught to hate witches all their lives, after all—but it didn’t make him any less upset with it. He bounced his knee quickly as he waited, chewing on his bottom lip. Their progress seemed so incredibly slow to Lance; he just wanted Coran to give his speech so Lance could get down there and get his boyfriend back. 

 

And if Lance thought watching them tie Keith up was bad, watching them build a fire beneath his feet was a million times worse. It made Lance sick to his stomach, made him tip his head back slightly as he blinked back warm tears. It was stupid, he knew, because in less than fives minutes he’d be down there saving him, but it didn’t make it any less scary, didn’t make it any less painful to watch. It was nothing but a reminder of what was at stake if something went wrong, a reminder of what things could have been like had they gone differently, and it hurt Lance in ways the couldn’t stand. 

 

He looked away then, knowing he had to stop working himself up so much if he was going to be any good in his rescue mission. He stared at his feet and took deep breaths, only flinching slightly when Allura reached over and grabbed his hand. 

 

Minutes later, Coran was stepping up to the front of the box and addressing the crowd, only just able to quiet the excited roar of noise. Lance didn’t pay attention to anything Coran said, choosing instead to look down at Keith, trying desperately to convey his frustration, his restlessness, his determination to get to the arena floor and save him before he ever had to worry about being burnt alive. 

 

Keith was far away, probably much too far to see any of the features of Lance’s face or where he was looking, but Lance found comfort in looking at him anyway. Even if Keith had his eyes closed, Lance still felt connected to him, like there was a livewire of energy flowing between them that only burned brighter when they were staring straight at each other. 

 

Allura letting go of Lance’s hand was what brought his eyes away from Keith’s face, and he drew in a harsh breath as he saw the guards begin to light the fire beneath Keith’s feet. He was out of his seat before he could give a thought to being subtle, throwing on layer after layer of protective and shrouding clothing before grabbing his rifle, throwing open the viewing box door and flying down the stairs. 

 

There was a separate staircase that was for royal use only, so Lance didn’t have to worry about being seen. All he had to do was focus on getting there as fast as possible without wearing himself out and rendering himself useless in the oncoming fight. 

 

Lance had never been to the back side of the stadium before, but he had no trouble finding the small gap between the end of the stands and the lip of the cliff, edging around it carefully and hiding in the shadows as he forced himself to stop. He took a second to breathe, poking his head around the stands to look out at the platform, now not ten feet from Keith. He assessed the situation carefully for a second, taking in the position of the guards and the progress of the flames—and almost letting out a yelp when he saw how close to Keith’s bound feet they had gotten, already licking at the soles of his shoes. 

 

His eyes darted back to Keith’s face and the air was punched out of his lungs as he saw how panicked he was, his legs struggling fruitlessly to get away from the rising flames, his hands curled into tight fists. It was strange seeing Keith so helpless; for Lance, Keith had always been his inspiration, his role model, someone untouchable and strong in ways that Lance could only imagine. Even without knowing of his powers, Keith had always pushed Lance to try harder, inspired him to do better, made sure he was on the right track. And now he was tied down, his magic gone, every inch of his body shaking and waiting for Lance to save him. It was that and the sound of Keith’s soft sob that finally spurred Lance into action, and he only took the time to make sure his hood and mask were covering his face before he jumped out from behind the stands, rushing forward. 

 

He didn’t think before he cocked the gun and pulled the trigger, sending the very first blast towards a guard with his back turned to Lance. He went down smoothly, and Lance tried not to panic as he realized that he had now effectively gained the attention of the entire stadium. It was strangely silent, nothing to be heard but the crackle of the fire and the deafening boom of the gun in his hands. That lasted for all of five seconds before the guards began to pour down from where they’d been standing in the stadium, war cries falling heavy from their mouths. 

 

Lance let out a small squeak at the sight and immediately tried not to focus on the sheer amount of them or the swords in their hands, choosing to instead turn and fire shots at the ropes around Keith’s ankles. He held steady to avoid shooting Keith, because although it wouldn’t hurt him Lance really didn’t need him to be put to sleep. 

 

Lance could hear the guards getting closer and closer but he didn’t stop, just kept shooting at the stupid rope until he’d been almost completely surrounded. Only once he saw Keith pull his legs up and away from the fire did Lance allow himself to turn his attention back to the guards, wasting no time in shooting them down. The noise in the stadium had become deafening at this point, full of screams and cheers and boos and every noise that could possibly be made. Lance didn’t let it distract him, though, and worked on slowly creating a steady rhythm that split his attention between self-defense and shooting at any of the many bindings keeping Keith dangled above that fire. 

 

He couldn’t help but get more and more frustrated as time went on, wishing he could just shoot through things faster. He knew the gun was a million times better in that respect than his crossbow would have been, but he couldn’t help but blame it. If only it was stronger, better, faster, then Lance could blast through the bottom of the cross and get Keith far away from the flames that were threatening to burn him alive. 

 

The next time Lance looked back, the fire had gotten much too close to Keith for comfort, and the panic clawing at his chest immediately made him double down, made him fight harder and faster and shoot with more clarity, the pounding in his ears sufficiently drowning everything out. Lance stopped caring so much about himself and started spending longer shooting at Keith, trying to make some sort of visible progress. The fire and smoke were now completely obscuring the beam where he’d been shooting, so he had no idea how much he still had to shoot through. He couldn’t get a good look at Keith’s cuffs, either, and Keith’s magic would be incredibly helpful right then. 

 

It only made Lance feel worse when he noticed the smoke was slowly starting to engulf Keith, making him cough audibly and obscuring him from Lance’s view. He let out a growl and grabbed the butt of his gun, whirling around in a circle as he clubbed anything and everything he could reach, desperate to give himself some space. His plan worked well enough and he brought the rifle back into shooting position, opening fire on Keith’s cuffs. He let out a triumphant shout when one of them finally broke through, looking around him and taking quick stock of his situation. The guards he’d beat down were already getting back up and more were already starting to pour around them, which meant one of Keith’s broken cuffs was enough progress for him. 

 

He decided to take a chance and turned his back on the guards, barreling towards Keith and leaping a bit right before he reached him, successfully snapping the weak spot he’d shot into the beam and sending them flying backward over the edge of the cliff. As they fell, he let himself admit that it maybe hadn’t been the best idea, but it was the best thing he could come up with. 

 

Keith let out a yelp and quickly closed his eyes, shaking beneath Lance as they just barely began to slow down, the change increasing gradually the closer they got to the ground. Lance eventually landed in the sand with a soft thump, Keith landing beside him with a heavier sound and a groan, the cross still pulling at him and bringing him down. They lay in silence for a few seconds, both of them taking the time to catch their breath. Lance rolled onto his back and opened his eyes to stare at the sky, something that had always helped him calm down, and was met instead with the sight of several guards looking over the top of the cliff, yelling and pointing at them angrily. 

 

“Um,” Lance said with a soft squeak, reaching out to poke Keith’s cheek. “Can you make us, like, invisible, or something?” 

 

Lance turned his head to watch as Keith slowly opened his eyes, making a noise very close to Lance’s own as he saw the same thing. 

 

“Please untie me,” Keith said, pulling at the ropes around his wrists. Lance gave a quick nod and untied him as fast as he could, tugging them free with ease. He then grabbed Keith’s hand and pulled him to his feet, ignoring their imminent danger for a second to give Keith a bright smile. 

 

“Hey, baby. Long time, no see.” 

 

Keith let out a soft snort as he shook his head, waving his arms in an abrupt circle before letting them fall again. They then began to walk along the skinny beach next to the ocean, and it was in those few moments of silence that the events of the past hour caught up with him. The longer he thought about it, the more it felt like he couldn’t breathe. He stared at the sand below him and chewed on his bottom lip, not knowing what to do with himself.

 

“Are you okay?” Keith asked, his voice soft as he reached out to lace his fingers with Lance’s. He felt stupid then, worrying about things that Keith had already taken care of. He just couldn’t help it. 

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. I just… I didn’t hurt any of them, right?” he asked, looking up at him worriedly. Keith gave him a small smile in return, his free hand coming up to cup Lance’s cheek. 

 

“No, Lance. You didn’t hurt any of them. When we get back to the castle I’ll wake them all up, and we can have Shiro do a headcount to make sure everyone’s made it back, okay?” 

 

“Okay,” Lance replied as he turned his head to press a small kiss to Keith’s palm, a soft smile spreading across his lips. “Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Keith smiled, letting his hand return to his side once more as he began tugging them down the beach again. “So, what’s the plan?” 

 

“Um… Go back to the castle for now,” Lance shrugged. “We’ll talk to the others once we’re back and they can explain the plan we came up with.” 

 

Keith nodded as he tightened his grip on Lance’s hand, the shouting behind them get louder as a few guards began to pick their way down the cliff. “Do you know how to get back to the castle from here?” 

 

“Um, I think this beach leads up to the horse pasture. There should be a gate we can use to get back in,” Lance said, his face pinching a little as he tried to remember the layout of the land.

 

“Let’s hope the guards don’t think to come around the other way, then, or we’ll be surrounded,” Keith muttered, his voice low as he urged them to walk even faster. 

 

“Do you think anyone knew it was me?” Lance asked, squeezing Keith’s hand.  

 

“I don’t think so,” Keith said with a shake of his head. “But I guess we won’t know for sure until later.” 

 

Lance nodded and went back to watching his feet, mesmerized by the way his footprints appeared and disappeared almost as quickly. He smiled as Keith leaned over and kissed his cheek, his mind beginning to run wild with the promise of their freedom. They still had a little ways to go, sure, but it was all smooth sailing from there. They had gotten through the hardest part; Keith was alive and Lance hadn’t hurt anyone and they’d gotten away without anyone figuring out it was him. It felt pretty damn good if he was being honest, and he felt more like himself than he had in a long time. 

 

He was going to miss home, but he couldn’t ignore the much larger part of himself that was excited to get away from this place, the part that was jumping at the chance to see the world at the sides of his favorite people. He hoped Keith liked the plan, even though he couldn’t think of a reason why he wouldn't. Keith didn’t have the same kinds of things keeping him at the castle, so Lance didn’t think he’d have much of a problem leaving it as long as Lance was with him. 

 

They got back to the castle faster than Lance was expecting, coming out exactly where Lance had predicted a few feet away from the farthest edge of the horse pasture, near the gate that led into town. Lance looked over towards the stadium and watched as people poured from the entrance, the distinctly uneasy edge to the crowd obvious even given the distance.

 

The arena flags were gone, meaning Allura and the others were probably already waiting inside for them. They passed through the gate quickly, locking it again before they headed across the field. Lance did most of the leading as Keith kept watch, making sure no one wandered too close. 

 

“Did you guys talk about where to meet up?” Keith asked, causing Lance to jump at the sudden break in silence. 

 

“In the map room,” Lance told him. “It’s the most secure room in the castle.” 

 

Keith nodded, nudging them towards the back kitchen door, the least active and most convenient entrance. Lance let the silence stretch between them for a few more moments before he decided to ask about the limitations of Keith’s magic. They talked about it back and forth as they finished crossing the field and slipped into the kitchen, Lance only struggling a little to keep up with all the information Keith was giving him. Lance grabbed Keith’s hand as he led them through the halls, their conversation tapering off the closer they got to their destination. 

 

They made seemingly random remarks back and forth after that as they went, both avoiding the coming conversation. Lance was nervous for some reason, fearing that everything would fall apart the closer they got to finally being free. He almost wanted to hide, wanted to pull Keith into a random room and just hold him for as long as Keith would let him. He’d barely gotten any time to truly bask in the fact that Keith was safe, and it felt like everything was moving so fast. Realistically, he knew it would be fine. They’d walk into the map room and Allura and Shiro would explain the plan, then they’d spend the night preparing a boat and the crew would set out tomorrow, just after the funeral. 

 

Lance did his best to keep Keith from sensing his unfounded worry, a small bounce in his step as he tugged them closer to the doors to the map room, which were standing wide open. He really was excited, if he was being honest, and he wanted to tell Keith all about the plan so he could be excited, too.  

 

Lance could hear voices coming from inside and he sped up, looking back at Keith with an excited smile. “Are you ready?” He could see how tense Keith was and he did his best to reassure him, giving him a soft look.

 

“It’s a good plan, right?” Keith asked, the worry clear in his voice even though Lance knew he was probably trying to hide it.

 

“It’s a good plan,” Lance reassured, squeezing his hand as he gave him a smile. “The absolute best we could come up with.”

 

Keith let out an audible breath and gave Lance a nod, leading them through the door once he’d readied himself. What Lance assumed was Keith’s magic pulled the door closed behind them, causing everyone inside to startle and look towards them. Lance wasted no time in beginning to pull off the now suffocating layers of his clothes, shucking them off and onto the floor carelessly. 

 

“I’m glad to see you both made it back in one piece,” Allura said with a smile, the rest of the room giving small nods of agreement. “You two caused quite a scene out there.” 

 

“Was it epic?” Lance asked as he pulled off the last of his layers, leaving him in a thin pair of pants and a shirt, his body slowly adjusting to the cool air that finally had the ability to reach him. 

 

“Very,” Shiro confirmed, nodding as he grinned. “To be honest, I’m still not entirely sure how you pulled it off.” 

 

“Me neither, chief!” Lance said cheerily, grinning back. “I’m just happy I did.” He turned then and gave Keith a soft look, leaning closer and pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek. “Really, really happy.” 

 

Keith’s answering blush was priceless, and he gave Lance a look in return that was just as soft as he stepped a bit closer and took Lance’s hand.

 

“All right, all right, that’s enough, love birds,” Allura said, rolling her eyes fondly as her posture became quite formal, her hands folded in front of her. “I believe we have a few things to discuss.” 

 

\--

 

“Are you sure you’re okay with that? All of you?” Keith asked, looking around in bewilderment at the people in the room with him. The plan had just been explained to him, and it was both exactly what he was expecting and not even close. 

 

“You and Lance really are very similar,” Allura commented with a warm smile. “Yes, Keith. We’ve discussed it many times in depth, both with and without Lance’s judgement, and we believe it is the best course of action. It’s certainly not ideal, no, but life is all about making concessions, and there’s no way for us to go back and change the past.” 

 

“It just… It feels like a lot, just for me. I could go by myself. There’s no reason for the rest of you to come,” Keith said, shaking his head. He couldn’t ask his friends to give up their lives to follow him somewhere where he wouldn’t be persecuted. He’d brought this upon himself, had done something stupid even though he knew what the consequences were. He was already lucky enough to not be dead, he didn’t need them to do this for him. As much as the thought of leaving them behind hurt, he would do it if it meant he stopped interrupting their lives. 

 

“Like we told Lance, we’re happy to come,” Pidge said, her arms crossed over her chest. “This isn’t as big of an inconvenience as the two of you seem to think. Sure, it’s not what I ever thought I’d be doing, but to be honest? It sounds like a lot of fun. I’m excited to see the world with a bunch of my favorite people. It’s better than staying stuck behind these walls for the rest of my life.” 

 

“I agree with Pidge,” Hunk said, nodding. “I’ve always wanted to go exploring. It’s just an opportunity to see new things, meet new people, try new food, create new memories with my friends. I’m actually excited.”

 

Keith took a second to think about that, relaxing against Lance’s chest when he came up from behind and wrapped his arms around him, tucking his face into Keith’s neck and pressing a soft kiss to his skin. “Come on, baby,” Lance whispered, smiling as his lips brushed Keith’s sensitive neck and made him shiver. “It’ll be an adventure.” 

 

On the one hand, everything they were saying made perfect sense. He’d only been in the castle for a few years but he knew first hand how absolutely boring it could be, locked up behind these walls. He’d only gotten to leave a handful of times, and he’d made sure to make each one last as long as it could, always dreading the next long stent of time he’d have to spend inside. 

 

But at the same time, it still felt like a lot. It wasn’t like they couldn’t ever come back, since they weren’t in danger like he was, but they would have no idea when they’d be able to plan a trip back. They wouldn’t ever be able to keep in touch with their family, since it’d be impossible to know where they were at any point in time. It’d probably end up being a lot harder for them than they realized. 

 

“You guys are positive?” Keith asked eventually, looking each of them in the eyes and holding it for a few seconds, wanting to make sure.

 

“Positive,” Nyma said with a curt nod, giving Keith a warm smile. The others nodded their agreement, similar smiles stretched across their lips. 

 

“Okay, then,” Keith relented, giving a nod of his own as he pushed out a long breath. “Let’s do it.” 

 

Cheers broke out immediately, everyone in the room pressing forward to envelop Keith and Lance in a hug. Keith laughed softly and hugged them back the best he could, comforted by the feeling of having all his favorite people so close. 

 

“Don’t worry about a thing, Keith,” Coran said, giving him a beaming smile. “Everything will turn out just fine.”

 

“Thanks, Coran,” Keith said, surprised by how much his words actually helped soothe his rampant thoughts. He was right, or at least Keith hoped he was. Everything would be just fine.  

 

“We’ll need to spend the rest of the day packing and gathering supplies, obviously,” Allura said as the circle disbanded slowly, no one wandering too far away from one another. “But the six of you should be able to head out as soon as the funeral is finished.” 

 

“Sounds good,” Lance grinned, pressing a kiss to Keith’s cheek. Keith smiled, shaking his head fondly before kissing Lance’s cheek in return. Everyone began to talk amongst themselves as they discussed all the things they’d need to gather, making plans to get everything together as fast as they could. Keith wasn’t really listening, though, and was instead staring at Shiro, biting his lip. 

 

It didn’t take him long to notice, of course—because Shiro wasn’t the head of the King’s Army for nothing—and he quirked a questioning brow at Keith as he continued to stare, debating his options. Eventually he made up his mind, taking a deep breath and jerking his head in the opposite direction of the mass of chattering individuals. “Can I talk to you?” 

 

Shiro nodded and led them a few feet away, far enough to give them privacy but not far enough to make it obvious. “What can I help you with?” 

 

“I just, um… Can you make sure all of your men made it out of the arena okay?” Keith asked, shuffling his feet a little. He’d released his magic on all of them a long time ago, but no one had stopped by to give Shiro any reports on casualties or injuries or anything like that, so Keith wanted to make sure. 

 

“What do you mean?” Shiro asked, furrowing his brow. It was then that Keith remembered only him and Lance knew about the alterations he had made the night before, and he hastened to explain. 

 

“Lance was worried about hurting people, so I magicked his gun a little so he would put the guards to sleep instead of injuring them, and I just wanted to make sure that, you know, it worked.” 

 

Shiro nodded his head in understanding, looking a little relieved at the news. “Of course. I’ll check on them tonight, and send word in the morning just before you leave.”   

 

“Thanks, Shiro,” Keith said, giving him a smile as he relaxed. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous to ask in the first place, but it probably had something to do with how strange it felt to care so deeply about people he’d never met before, who’d done nothing but oppose him every step of the way. 

 

“Not a problem, Keith,” Shiro said, sharing his smile as he clapped him on the shoulder, holding his eyes for a second before turning to slide back into the conversations happening nearby. Keith followed him, but instead of trying to contribute he simply walked up behind Lance and wrapped his arms around him, burying his face in his back. 

 

He felt Lance laugh softly, resting his arms over Keith’s and lacing their fingers together as he continued to talk about whatever. Keith didn’t care about the topic, he was simply content to listen to the soothing rumble of Lance’s voice, feeling the vibrations against his skin. 

 

He didn’t know how much time passed before Lance was turning in his arms and cupping his cheeks, looking down at him lovingly as he ran his thumbs along Keith’s cheekbones. “Are you ready to get some rest, beautiful? We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

 

Keith closed his eyes happily and let out a soft hum when Lance gently pressed his lips against his, soft and sweet. “Aren’t we supposed to be helping get the ship ready?” 

 

“They said we don’t need to worry about that,” Lance said before kissing him again, longer this time.

 

“Then I’m ready to sleep forever,” Keith smiled, opening his eyes and pecking a quick kiss to the tip of Lance’s nose. Lance laughed softly and nodded, grabbing Keith’s hand and tugging him from the room with a quick farewell to the others. Keith interlaced their fingers and leaned against Lance’s side, letting his head rest on his shoulder.

 

“I missed you,” Keith said softly as they walked down the barren halls to Lance’s room, the path achingly familiar at this point. 

 

“I missed you, too,” Lance said, turning his head to drop a kiss to the top of Keith’s, squeezing his hand. 

 

“I asked Shiro to check on the guards,” Keith told him, knowing it was still on his mind. “He’s gonna tell us in the morning.” 

 

“Thank you,” Lance said, his voice layered with affection and gratitude that made Keith smile. 

 

They reached Lance’s room faster than Keith expected, and they fell into their nightly routine seamlessly, as if they hadn’t just spent days without it. Before Keith knew it, he was snuggled up next to Lance in bed, curled against his side with his head over Lance’s heart and his fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt, Lance’s arm draped over his waist and his other hand brushing slowly through Keith’s hair. 

 

“I missed sleeping in the same bed as you, too,” Keith murmured, listening to the steady thump of Lance’s heart beneath his head. 

 

“It was hard to fall asleep without you,” Lance hummed softly, tightening his grip on Keith’s waist as if someone were going to walk in and attempt to take him again. 

 

“Well, lucky for you, now I’m gonna be here for the rest of forever,” Keith smiled, pressing a kiss to Lance’s chest. 

 

“Very lucky for me,” Lance agreed, kissing the top of Keith’s head. 

 

“I love you,” Keith said, heart swelling happily in his chest. “So much.” 

 

“I love you, too,” Lance said, the smile clear in his voice. “So much.” 

 

Silence fell over them then, and the rhythmic rise and fall of Lance’s chest as he breathed mixed the repetitive beat of his heart and the steady presence of his hand running through his hair was enough to have Keith falling asleep in what felt like seconds, warm and comfortable and sinking under the force of Lance’s love.

 

Keith couldn’t ever remember feeling like this, so cared for and cherished, and he was almost sure he fell asleep with a soft smile on his lips, dreaming of staying wrapped in Lance’s arms forever.


	17. myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Funerals were a lot like Lance remembered: somber, dark, oppressive.
> 
>  
> 
> He’d thought he was over it, thought he be used to the way it felt, but he was wrong. His mother’s funeral had been one of the hardest things he’d ever had to sit through, and his father’s funeral was turning out to be an unsurprising close second.

 

Funerals were a lot like Lance remembered: somber, dark, oppressive. 

 

He’d thought he was over it, thought he be used to the way it felt, but he was wrong. His mother’s funeral had been one of the hardest things he’d ever had to sit through, and his father’s funeral was turning out to be an unsurprising close second. 

 

The fact that Keith couldn’t be here to support him only made it worse, and he was gripping Allura’s hand so hard he feared it might break. 

 

He hated so many fucking things about funerals. He hated the atmosphere, hated the way people’s eyes tracked him across the room and drowned him with pity, hated the way people who never knew him talked to him like they’d always been there for him. 

 

His father was dead, and that fucking sucked, but Lance was a grown man. If not for Allura, Lance would be running the kingdom. He didn’t need to be treated like a child, didn’t need to be coddled by strangers. He didn’t need their sympathy, didn’t need their pity, and especially didn’t need their empty words and condolences. For many of them, it was just another transfer of power, just another ancient king that had finally bit the dust. They didn’t really care about him, they only cared about what came after him.   

 

Just thinking about it made Lance see red, angry tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. It wasn’t fucking fair, none of it. He’d lost two of the most important people in his life, both for reasons he couldn’t anticipate, couldn’t control, couldn’t stop. They’d been good people, his parents, and the townspeople didn’t seem to realize just how rare it was to have rulers as kind and benevolent as his parents had been. 

 

He knew Allura would carry their parents’ legacy well, and would make them incredibly proud, but he almost wished she would show their subjects what it was like to have a ruler that didn’t care about the wellbeing of any of them. If they didn’t care about his father, weren’t affected when he died, then why should his father have stayed up night after night worrying about the best ways to keep them all safe? Why should he have cared when any of them died?

 

He grit his teeth, blinking hot tears from his eyes. His father hadn’t been perfect. He was far, far from it, sometimes. But no matter what, he had always tried his best. He didn’t deserve the silent anticipation of what was to come at a time when they were supposed to be cherishing what had just been. 

 

Lance almost wanted to ask them all to leave. If it had been up to him, he wouldn’t have opened the invitation to them at all. Most of the attendees were nobles, people who had a taste of royalty and luxury and would never be happy until it was them who was seated at the top. They didn’t have room to feel any empathy, their hearts too full of envy and bitterness to feel anything else.

 

Allura, however, had stressed the importance of their presence. It was tradition to hold a public funeral for each deceased member of the royal family, and that of their father would be no different, no matter how much it made Lance’s blood boil. 

 

Lance spent most of the event by himself, seething silently to himself and not looking at anyone as Allura stood and addressed the room, speaking about their father. Lance tried to pay attention to what she was saying, tried to be comforted and calmed by the memories of him, but as soon as Lance began to let go of the anger he was overtaken by a tidal wave of grief that ripped the air from his lungs and made his head spin as he choked on his tears, and he decided time after time that the anger was better.  

 

Once Allura was done, it was Lance’s turn. He wiped the tears from his cheeks and made his way to the front of the room, not looking up at any of them, afraid to make eye contact. He took a deep breath and held it, letting it out slowly as he tried to get his limbs to stop shaking. All he had to do was say a few words and he could be done, could go back to grieving in private where he couldn’t be picked apart by the vulture eyes of nobles looking for weak spots in the family line. 

 

But every time he tried to begin, every time he took that opening breath and parted his lips to speak, he couldn’t do it. He was shaking harder now, tears slipping down his cheeks uninhibited. He couldn’t think about anything but how awful it felt, how unfair it was that he hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye. His father had died hating him, shaming him for the choices he’d made and the way he was. His father had died hardly knowing him, believing things about him that were far from true. His father had died not having spoken a word to Lance in months—years, even. His father had died a complete stranger, and Lance felt just as fake as everyone else here. Who was he to get up and speak a few words about a man that couldn’t stand to look Lance in the eyes?

 

Lance jumped a little when he felt a hand slip into his, looking to the side and pausing when he saw that there was no one there. For a brief, irrational moment, Lance believed it was the ghost of his father, sending Lance some sort of apology from beyond the grave. But then logic washed the insanity away and Lance realized it was Keith, using his magic to make himself invisible so he could still be there to support Lance when he needed him. 

 

That only made Lance cry harder, and Keith upgraded to hugging Lance tightly from behind as he turned to address the room once again, sensing their impatience. Lance hardly thought as he spoke, taking deep breaths and letting the words come unfiltered from somewhere deep inside him, some part that didn’t come awake often enough. The feeling of Keith’s warmth against his back, Keith’s arms around his waist, and Keith’s breath on his neck kept him grounded, kept him from floating away into the dark cloud of his sadness. 

 

Before he knew it the words had run out, and Keith was carefully leading him back to his seat in the front row as Allura took over again, composed and poise as the ruler of the kingdom she was always meant to be. Lance shoved his bitterness down deep and let Keith take him to where he was meant to be, sitting him in a chair and pressing as close as he could. 

 

After that, it was only a few minutes before everyone in the room was standing, watching as the grave bearers came and hefted his father’s coffin onto their shoulders, carrying him down the aisle and out of the castle. The attendees formed two winding lines that followed along behind as they made their way through the town, coming to a stop in the royal cemetery. Lance watched, his emotions slowly numbing as they sealed his father away in his tomb, only a few feet away from where his mother had been laid to rest so many years before. 

 

Lance stood and watched as everyone slowly began to make their way back to the castle, the mood swiftly shifting and preparing for the celebration of Allura’s coronation, which would also serve as a departure celebration for Lance as the kingdom saw him off. But as excited for all of that as Lance was, he wasn’t quite in the mood for celebration yet. He needed a few moments more, just to say goodbye. His father may not have been the father Lance always dreamed of, but he had still meant more to Lance than he could ever describe. 

 

Once the cemetery was clear again, Keith dropped his shield of magic and took Lance’s hand, wordlessly leading him inside. They stayed silent as they stood there, side by side, staring down at the ornate slab of concrete the covered his father’s even grander coffin, both of which served to protect his father from the elements and preserve his body for as long as they were able. 

 

It felt surreal, really, and Lance was almost convinced he needed to pinch himself and make sure it was real. His father was really, truly gone. Lance would never get the chance to do so many things he’d dreamed of doing with him. Lance would never be able to look to him for guidance, would never get to invite him to his wedding, would never get to introduce him to his grandkids. 

 

He’d never get to see Allura become a successful ruler, never get to see Lance carry out his duties as the kingdom’s new ambassador. And the worst part of it all was that it had been a choice his father had made. Lance would never understand how his father’s pride and stubbornness became more important that his life and his children, but it was a clear truth that was impossible to ignore. His father had chosen to die, had chosen to give up the rest of his life and all the wonder that would come with it, and the longer Lance stood there, his eyes locked onto the surface of a cold slab of concrete, the harder it became to be something he was sad about. 

 

He would miss his father, of course he would. There probably wouldn’t be a single day for the rest of his life where he didn’t think about his parents, didn’t wonder what it’d be like if they were still around. But his father had made his bed and now he was lying in it, and Lance couldn’t help but think it was quite fair. 

 

If anything, Lance supposed it made sense. If he hadn’t made any effort to be a better father all those years he was given the chance, why would it be enough to convince him to change age-old beliefs? 

 

After a few more minutes of simply standing there, wrapping his head around the fact that the body of his father was underneath all that cold, gray stone, Lance took Keith’s hand and led him back outside, through the cemetery and back towards the castle. From what he could hear the celebrations had already started, and it brought a small smile to his lips. 

 

They deserved to be happy, all of them. Him, his sister, Keith, his friends, the nobles and the others in town. The death of his father didn’t mean there was no hope, no happiness, no good. It simply put everything in perspective. Life was short, crazy, hard to understand. Nothing mattered more than cramming it full of happiness and love and good memories that could be carried all the way to the grave.  

 

Lance didn’t want to think about death anymore, didn’t want to continue to grieve a man he had really barely known. He wanted to celebrate, wanted to think about the future and go out there and live it. He wanted to spend time with his family before they would be separated, wanted to congratulate his sister and tell her how much he loved her, wanted to watch people dance and laugh and whirl across the ballroom floor. 

 

So, that’s exactly what he did. 

 

He pouted a little as Keith cloaked himself once more but didn’t let go of his hand, leading him through the wide open castle doors and through the throngs of people dressed in their finest. It took him little time to find his sister and he crushed her in a hug as soon as he was close enough, uncaring that he was interrupting a conversation. 

 

“Lance,” Allura said in pleased surprise, wrapping her arms around him in a much more delicate manner. 

 

“Congratulations,” Lance said, pulling back a little to look at her and give her a smile. “I love you.” 

 

Allura’s eyes widened a bit, a warm smile spreading across her face. “Thank you, Lance. I love you, too.” 

 

Lance squeezed her again before letting go, waving as he grabbed Keith’s hand again (with minimal blind groping) and headed back out into the crowd. As he went, he waved at people he knew, stopping every once in a while for short conversations, almost all of them about the future. Some people asked him how he felt about Allura ruling, others asked him about his new role as ambassador, and still others asked about completely random things that Lance had never considered before. 

 

Many girls stopped to ask Lance if he was looking for suitors yet, which made Keith squeeze his hand and press a bit closer. Lance could only imagine the possessive scowl on his face as he glared at whoever had asked, and it made him giggle softly as he turned them all down. 

 

Slowly but surely, Lance felt himself being poisoned by the atmosphere in the room, by the laughter and music and unbridled joy. It felt like the crushing sadness of before was miles away, completely unable to touch him where he stood on the edges of the ballroom. He felt restless, antsy, like he couldn’t possibly stand still for another minute. The music was lively and loud, leading the dancing out on the floor. Lance was mesmerized by the way the dancers looked, weaving back and forth across the space smoothly, not one of them faltering in their footsteps. He wanted to be out there with them, mindlessly dancing the night away. He’d taken enough dancing lessons to last him a lifetime, but he’d had very few chances to show them off. 

 

Lance turned to Keith, who was still invisible beside him, considering it for a second before he spoke. “Can you make yourself look like someone else?” 

 

He obviously couldn’t see, but he imagined Keith looking at him in confusion, his brow furrowed adorably. “I don’t know, I’ve never tried. Why?” 

 

“I want to dance without looking insane,” Lance said, a small grin on his lips. “Would you be willing to try?” Lance heard Keith laugh softly before tugging them to the corner of the room, shoving them behind one of the pillars next to the staircase. Lance’s grin widened as Keith let his magic drop slowly, reappearing in front of him. 

 

“And what would you want me to look like?” Keith asked, sharing his grin as he pressed closer to Lance, his hands falling to rest on Lance’s hips. Lance hummed, wrapping his arms around Keith’s neck as he thought. Keith leaned forward to press soft kisses to Lance’s jaw, trailing down his neck. 

 

“How about your evil twin?” Lance giggled, tipping his head to give Keith more room. “Very similar and yet chillingly different.” 

 

Keith let out a hum of his own, raising his head to smile at Lance. “Let me see what I can do,” he said before capturing Lance’s lips in a slow, hot kiss. Lance made a soft sound and pulled him closer, slipping his fingers into the loose hair at the nape of Keith’s neck.    
  
When Keith pulled away and Lance let his eyes flutter open, he let out a laugh of surprise. Keith had taken Lance’s suggestion and more than delivered, transforming his face into something that looked almost more bird than man. It was an intense face if Lance had ever seen one, and he definitely could have passed for Keith’s evil twin. 

 

“Now make your hair blond,” Lance grin, watching happily as Keith did exactly that. It was strange, knowing that the man in front of him was Keith but being unable to find a single feature that looked like him. However, it was hard to be disappointed that Keith looked so different when Lance knew it was necessary for them to do what he wanted them to do. 

 

Lance gave Keith an excited smile and grabbed his head, leading him from the corner and onto the dancefloor, shoving their way to the very middle. Lance was about to ask if Keith even knew how to dance when he swept them into motion, effortlessly matching the movements of those around them. 

 

“You know how to dance?” Lance asked in surprise, unable to deny the warm pleasure that bubbled in his chest at the thought. 

 

“Mmhmm,” Keith nodded, smiling at him as a light blush dusted his cheeks, as if he’d never expected Lance to find out. 

 

“How did you learn?” Lance continued, mindlessly letting Keith lead them across the floor. 

 

“I used to watch you during your lessons, sometimes,” Keith mumbled in obvious embarrassment, his face flushing further. “Kolivan taught me the rest.” 

 

Lance snorted softly, an amused smile on his lips. “Kolivan gave you dance lessons?” 

 

“It’s not like I asked for them,” Keith said, scowling playfully. “Kolivan got bored sometimes, and apparently he really likes dancing.” 

 

“You learn something new every day,” Lance grinned, pressing a kiss to Keith’s red cheek. “He really doesn’t seem like the type.”

 

“He’s a mean teacher,” Keith grumbled. “He forgives you for nothing.”

 

“You can’t blame a man for having standards,” Lance teased. “Besides, it looks like he taught you quite well.”

 

“I’m glad you think so,” Keith laughed softly, taking that moment to throw Lance into a twirl he’d forgotten was coming. Lance giggled as he spun, moving outwards and brushing hands with the woman beside him before he was pulled back into Keith’s arms, switching hands and repeating the movement the other way. They didn’t talk much after that, just danced and laughed and smiled at one another, pressing closer and closer and closer as time went on. Lance felt drunk on happiness, oblivious to anything but the smiling man holding him close. If he could have stayed in the moment forever, careless and wild and free, he would have. 

 

Unfortunately, Allura found the two of them eventually, giving them an amused look as she beckoned them off the dancefloor and towards the front of the room. The sun was high in the sky now from what Lance could see through the tall windows, and it was only then that he registered how strange it was for them to be holding a daytime celebration. He knew why they were, of course, and he was glad they wouldn’t be setting sail in the dead of night, but he couldn’t help but wonder if this was the earliest people had ever danced in their ballroom. 

 

They had decided days ago that they wouldn’t make a big deal of Lance’s departure. Allura informed them that the ship was all loaded and ready to go, and all that was left was to say goodbyes, and then they could be on their way. Lance had no idea where they would be going first, but Pidge reassured him that she had it all laid out. 

 

Lance reluctantly let go of Keith so he could do his own goodbyes, surveying the small group of his friends and family that had gathered to see them off. He said goodbye to Allura’s guards first, staring them down and making them swear to keep Allura safe. They shook their heads at him fondly and swore on their lives, each giving Lance a hug before shoving him off to see everyone else. 

 

Lance made his way over to Kolivan, smiling at him as he immediately went in for a hug. “I heard you taught Keith how to dance.” 

 

Kolivan laughed, hugging Lance back tighter than he’d been expecting. “I did. And from what I saw, I taught him well.” 

 

“You did,” Lance nodded, laughing as he pulled back. “I guess this means you have to find a new apprentice, huh?” 

 

Kolivan nodded, smiling. “It does, but I’m not worried. I won’t be going anywhere soon, so there’s still plenty of time to share my knowledge.” 

 

Lance snorted in amusement, shaking his head. “I’m sure you’re right. Good luck finding anyone as good as Keith.” 

 

Kolivan rolled his eyes and waved him off, turning away as Lance scanned for his next target. His eyes fell on Shiro and he started towards him, a teasing grin already falling into place on his lips. 

 

“So, you’re gonna take good care of the kingdom while I’m gone, right?” Lance asked, letting out a huff of surprise when Shiro pulled him into a crushing hug, picking him up off the ground. 

 

“Of course,” he answered, hugging him for a moment longer before setting him back on his feet, raising a hand to ruffle his hair. Lance wheezed, ducking away from his hand as he got his breath back. 

 

“And you’re gonna take care of Allura, too, right? Be there to guide her when she needs it?” 

 

“Of course,” Shiro repeated, nodding. “You don’t have to worry, Lance. We’re going to be just fine, and so are you.”

 

“I know,” Lance sighed, tipping his head back. “It’s just weird. I’ve never really left this place before, never had to think about living somewhere else and leaving people I care about behind.”

 

“I get that,” Shiro said, smiling at him. “But knowing you, I think you’ll quite like the freedom.” 

 

“I guess we’ll see,” Lance laughed, shaking his head. Shiro’s smiled widened, and he gave Lance another quick hug before gesturing for him to go see the others. Lance smiled as he saw Keith hugging Kolivan, holding him tightly with his eyes squeezed shut. Pidge and Hunk were waiting towards the edge of the room, talking quietly amongst themselves, probably already having said their goodbyes. 

 

Lance jumped slightly when someone touched his shoulder, relaxing when he saw it was only Coran. “Come here, my boy,” he said, holding his arms out for a hug. Lance felt strangely emotional as he tucked himself in Coran’s arms, breathing in his familiar scent. Coran had really been more of a father to Lance than Alfor ever had, and it struck Lance just how much he was going to miss him as he stood there. “I always knew you were going to grow up to do amazing things,” Coran said softly, patting Lance’s back. “Your mother and I used to talk about it all the time.”

 

“Really?” Lance asked, tears welling in his eyes at the thought. Those simple words held more pride, more encouragement, more love than he ever remembered getting from his father. It made him miss his mother, made him want to go back to when he was younger and he felt like people truly believed in him. 

 

“Really. Although, this certainly isn’t what either of us had in mind.” 

 

Lance let out a wet laugh, pulling away and wiping at his eyes. “Thank you, Coran.” 

 

“For what?” he asked, looking a little wet in the eyes himself. 

 

“For always being there for me. I wouldn’t be the same without you.”

 

Coran smiled and cupped his cheek, giving it a soft pat before tipping his head towards his sister. “Go. She’s going to miss you the most.” 

 

Lance sniffled quietly as he approached Allura, her head immediately turning to find him. “Hey.” 

 

“Hey,” she said back, giving him a smile. He paused for a second before he tugged her into a tight hug, squeezing his eyes shut the same way he’d seen Keith do earlier. 

 

“I’m gonna miss you,” Lance said, unable to stop the tears from slowly slipping down his cheeks. 

 

“I’m going to miss you, too,” Allura said, her voice soft as she hugged Lance back just as fiercely. “Do you promise to be safe?” 

 

“Pinky promise,” Lance nodded, squeezing her. “Do you promise to let people help you and not try to do everything on your own?” 

 

Allura laughed softly, giving a nod of her own. “I promise. I don’t think I’d be able to do it on my own, anyway.”

 

“But you would try,” Lance smiled. 

 

“Mm, you know me too well,” Allura said, pulling away and grabbing his hands, squeezing them tightly. “Be careful, Lance. Remember that many of the other kingdoms don’t do things like we do. You’re not a prince there, you’re just a commoner like anyone else. There’s nothing there to protect you besides the people you’re bringing along. But remember to have fun, and be happy. That’s all I want for you, Lance. I want you to be happy.” 

 

Lance nodded, his eyes watering again as he pulled her in for another short hug. “I’ll try to write as often as I can.” 

 

“You better,” Allura said, smiling widely at him. “Now, go. Get on that ship.” 

**Author's Note:**

> part two will be up as soon as i finish,, uh,, editing :)) hope you enjoyed
> 
> come hang with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/professionlmess) or [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/professional-mess) if you want 
> 
> support my lovely artist Raven and beta Quiorra:
> 
> The Art — [view here](https://corbeaucreations.tumblr.com/post/173240829507/aaand-my-final-piece-for-the-klance-reverse-bang)
> 
> Raven — [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/corbeaucreations)
> 
> Quiorra — [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/theseapalace), [ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImmortalDesire)
> 
> translations:  
> -habeat tempus bonum, et plantae: have a good time with the plants  
> -ostende mihi faciem tabula inferno evadere: show me a map of this hell scape  
> -ut ea humida: get them wet  
> -eum mitterent sagittas: shoot him with the arrows  
> -et resurrexit propter pulcherrimum puerum in mundo: a rose for the prettiest boy in the world


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